To the Victor Goes the Spoils
by KuryakinGirl
Summary: When security is a family affair, it's never easy. Alias/West Wing xo. Complete.
1. Chapter 1 of 12

Disclaimer-Characters belong to Aaron Sorkin or J.J. Abrams. No copyright infringement intended. Any similarity to events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The International Spy Museum is privately owned and hopefully they'll see this as a wee bit of free advertising. (Corner of G Street and 9th in Washington. Go. Go now.)  
  
Author's Notes-First attempt at Alias. Hope it works. :" Some of you may see a familiar face with a certain spy-ish character. Just remember that she sort of started over after Simon Donovan died. This is written, or at least is attempted to be written, so that you can pick it up without having seen an episode of either West Wing or Alias or have read any of my previous West Wing stories. Hopefully that goal has been reached. I have to thank my head cheerleader, Agent Double-Oh Dis, who just plain simply rocks. Thanks for always bein' there for me. And especially for getting all giddy when I told you what I was up to. Your encouragement and love is unbelievable and I don't know what I'd do without you. Especially with, y'know, awesome directions and restaurant suggestions for D.C. To the Admiral, with her head full of facts. To the ever-impressive CDA delegation that went with me to our nation's capital, made up of four "University Bitches" and one D.C. Sweetie. To the Communications Director of the University Bitches, thank you for going with me to one of our last trip stops for a little research on this story. You four, though. You rock and I love you all. You made the trip absolutely fabulous. To the 'Crew, with hopes you watch Alias, too (and you-know-who for the title ;) ). For those of you who helped me with names... :" That'd be Dis and the VP University Bitch and the Admiral. I hate names. I hate coming up with them. *G* To Tess, who came to the rescue one late night of fic writing when I couldn't consult the gospel o' WW tapes.  
  
Spoilers-This story takes place before California 47th on West Wing and before A Free Agent on Alias.  
  
Archive-Let me know where, thanks.  
  
Feedback-Always greatly appreciated.  
  
To the Victor Goes the Spoils-When security is a family affair, it's never easy.  
  
The two emerged from the Metro station together. She pondered briefly if it was like the phoenix rising from the ashes. SD-6 was gone. The entire Alliance was gone. She was still alive. All was well. Which was why Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn, two CIA operatives, were out and about in Washington D.C. for a day of sight-seeing before a night of rubbing shoulders with the likes of the Director of Central Intelligence and other high-ranking governmental officials. And Vaughn had a wonderful idea for their first stop of the day. Taking her by the hand, they crossed the street.  
  
Sydney was surprised to see the long line of tourists curling around itself. "What's this?"  
  
"What we're here to see," he said with a smile.  
  
"Well, it's an interesting line, Vaughn, really. Lotsa people..."  
  
He shook his head, leading her towards the door.  
  
"We're not cutting line, Vaughn. These people look like they've been here for hours."  
  
He pulled a pair of tickets from his pocket. "Of course not. It just helps to get these ahead of time."  
  
"We got in late last night."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So, when'd you get those?"  
  
"I called for them a few days ago, had one of the aides out at Langley pick them up and leave them at the hotel for me."  
  
"The envelope you said I shouldn't worry about..." she said, drifting off, realization setting in.  
  
He nodded, leading her inside.  
  
"What is this place?" she asked, looking around.  
  
"The International Spy Museum."  
  
"You *have* to be joking," she said, laughing slightly.  
  
"C'mon, Syd. Let's step back through time to the Cold War and see the old technology. The James Bond-esque relics. All part of our very own world of Espionage."  
  
Having been searched and verified clean by security, Sydney and Vaughn slid through the waiting line to an elevator. It seemed terribly familiar as they climbed in, prompting Vaughn to find Sydney's hand and squeeze it gently. She looked over at him, smiling softly, as the floor lights changed from red to green.  
  
A voice informed them of their next stop, where they were to assume an identity and memorize the information because they were being watched; they would be quizzed. Playing along, they each chose new identities but only looked at the biography briefly while the others were testing each other to make sure they had their facts straight. Sydney even noticed a pair of tourists making "cheat sheets" on the free museum map they'd picked up on the ground floor.  
  
Their next stop was a video briefing on the history of espionage, followed by the "identity quiz" which, naturally, both spies passed without the "security guard" becoming a bit suspicious. They slowly strolled through the museum, taking in the various eye-catching exhibits and hands- on activities. She wondered about the lives of her parents as they wandered in and out of the rooms. Images of Mad Magazine's Spy vs. Spy refused to leave her mind. She could even see her parents in the oversized fedoras and contrasting suits. Making the visit even more surreal was the sound of smaller children, keeping themselves entertained while their parents, children of the Cold War, revisited their old us versus them mentalities, their fears of the Bomb...  
  
"You okay?" he asked softly, bringing her out of her thoughts.  
  
She smiled past the pain. "Of course." She pointed through the small Plexiglas display case. "I think I've used the Marshall 2000 version of that," she said with a slight smile.  
  
"Who knew lipstick could be so deadly?" asked Vaughn with a smile.  
  
"April Dancer."  
  
"Agent Ninety-Nine maybe?" he asked.  
  
"Agent Vaughn?"  
  
The two turned to see a young man in a suit. "Do I know you?" Vaughn asked cautiously.  
  
"DCI Conrad sent me to find you."  
  
He was immediately curious. The Director of Central Intelligence hunted them down in downtown D.C.? "What's going on?"  
  
"He sends his regrets on ruining your day off, but you're needed at the Farm." It was more CIA-speak, code for the main headquarters at Langley.  
  
"Again, what's going on?" asked Vaughn.  
  
"There will be a full briefing if you'll please come with me, Agents."  
  
"At least we got to see Bond's Aston Martin," Sydney said with a slight sigh.  
  
~~~  
  
A young woman in a suit, maybe mid twenties, met Sydney and Vaughn at the main entrance of the CIA headquarters. "Agents, if you'll follow me?" she asked.  
  
Sydney noticed that she seemed harried. "Are you okay?" she asked.  
  
"I'm fine, ma'am, thanks. The Director will be right in," she said, pulling open the large door to the spacious conference room. She moved in front of it, to keep the door open with her body as she handed them each a file folder. "Take a seat."  
  
Dozens of agents, each with a file folder in front of them, sat at a number of long tables; several were taking notes. A large projection screen was at the head of the conference room, showing a black and white picture of a man, his statistics listed down the side of the screen, such as height, weight, eye color, distinguishing features and other pertinent information. Several flat-screened panels were equally spaced on each table and displayed the same profile.  
  
Vaughn and Sydney found two empty chairs next to each other at the back table and silently slid into them. Vaughn opened the file folder he'd been given while Sydney glanced around the room. She didn't recognize a soul. She did notice an agent at the front of the room hooking up a piece of equipment to a laptop on a smaller desk. She also noticed a woman enter looking even more harried, even more distracted than the aide who'd guided them to the room. She looked all professional with her hair up in a French twist and her black skirt suit perfectly tailored. Her eyes, though, were troubled and red-rimmed behind wire-framed glasses.  
  
"Vaughn..."  
  
"Hm?" He didn't look up from his file.  
  
"Who's that woman, do you know?"  
  
He looked up and in the direction Sydney indicated. "That's Crystal Seaborn."  
  
"Who's she?"  
  
"One of the best in the business. Recruited out of high school. Speaks like six languages. Black ops, rescues... Her specialty is in weapons dealers, but she's done some Syndicate cases, was part of the team that took down SD-1. She's... she's good. Sort of a legend."  
  
"She looks upset."  
  
"A little, yeah."  
  
A tall, distinguished looking gentleman in a suit entered and, with long, powerful strides, crossed to the front of the room. He spoke quietly with the agent at the laptop then nodded. The agent slipped out, dimming the lights before he left. "Good morning," he said somberly. "As most of you have learned by now, Victor Jordan is in town and will, for a fact, be gunning for one of our own agents, Crystal Seaborn. Those of you who are familiar with his MO know that she's in serious danger, as is her cousin." After pressing a key on the laptop, a picture of thirty-something dark- haired man appeared on the desktop flat-screens and large projector screen. "This is Sam Seaborn, the Democratic candidate in the special congressional election in California's 47th district, which is Orange County." With another keystroke, a smaller screen popped up at Sam's hip. It was a live-feed from another CIA office. One with people Sydney and Vaughn recognized. "L.A. office, can you hear me?"  
  
"We're online, Director."  
  
Sydney glanced quickly at Vaughn. That voice that filled the conference room? That voice belonged to her father, also an agent, Jack Bristow.  
  
"Good to have you on board," continued Conrad. "Here's what we know." The display changed again, from the picture of Sam Seaborn to the passenger manifest of an early morning flight into Reagan National Airport. "Jordan arrived with a six-member entourage at 7:15 this morning. Agent Seaborn, three days ago, spotted Jordan at Heathrow Airport and he, her. Jordan, having a photographic memory, recalled an incident in Borneo three years ago." The picture changed again, to a gruesome sight of a hotel suite. "Seaborn was left for dead once. Knowing his pattern and knowing she'd been spotted, she immediately contacted the London office and the report landed on my desk before her flight was taxiing for takeoff. With that information, we discovered his name on the passenger manifest for the international flight last night into this morning. A team of agents was deployed to Reagan this morning, ready and waiting to keep him under surveillance. Unfortunately, in the morning rush, we lost him. It was a clear bait-and-switch with matching SUVs. Jordan never travels without a body double and several bodyguards. We wound up following the body double to a fast-food restaurant then a hotel. Thankfully, before we lost Jordan, we were able to get visuals." The pictures faded into those of matching black SUVs with an enlargement of their license plates.  
  
"Here's our problem," he said, continuing. "Jordan has never been stateside. He knows Agent Seaborn is CIA; that's what brought him to the hotel suite in Borneo the first time." Another picture flashed on screen, that of an insignia. "He's the lead assassin for a terrorist organization called the Red Crescent Order, who we were investigating in Borneo. They specialize in making deals with other terrorist groups, filling in when members get killed off en masse. It's a profitable racket. Sort of mercenaries for terrorists. They also have training camps, protective areas, security for high-ranking members of militant insurgent groups, which is why we're having trouble finding him. He's gone underground and he has unlimited access to deep pockets." The screen changed again, to an older, distinguished looking gentleman. "Adding another layer of intrigue to this case and assisting him monetarily is European media mogul, Charles Renard, who also happens to be his father.  
  
"Jordan, personally, takes any failure as a direct challenge. He failed to kill all three CIA agents in Borneo so he's coming back to finish the job. He's probably hacking the DMV and other online resources to find out who she's related to, who he could hit. With a visible relative in Sam Seaborn," he said as the screen changed back to the original picture of Sam, "we've got our work cut out for us, ladies and gentlemen.  
  
"L.A., the Orange County election takes place in ten days. I want you strategizing on ways to keep the candidate safe. He declined an offer for California State Troopers an hour ago, more than likely due to the publicity factor. The winner of the November election, Horton Wilde, died of natural causes and here is his stand-in being guarded by glaringly obvious law enforcement officers. Stay on the line here and we'll get back to you shortly. D.C., we need to find this man and now. Secret Service, FBI, metro as well as state law enforcement agencies have been notified. They don't want to touch this guy knowing his history of violent behavior but they are going to be on the look out for us and will point us in the right direction should they spot anything suspicious. I want our government officials protected. I want the foreign dignitaries protected. Any bloodshed is a disaster. Laprise, find out what you can from our counterparts in France. Morgan, I want you to take point with the Secret Service to direct the efforts to protect the Executive. Thompson, metro law enforcement. Davidson, take the state agencies. Rowe, FBI; we may need their permission and assistance to take this guy down stateside and I don't want to ask for permission at the last minute and have them drag their feet. Bristow, Vaughn, and Seaborn, I want to see you three in my office. Dismissed."  
  
The agents started to gather up their things to go. The footage of the LA office showed the same thing, with Weiss looking at the D.C. screen and seeing his buddies Sydney and Vaughn. By the time Sydney and Vaughn made it through the mess of agents, Conrad was in a huddle with Crystal and the woman who met them at the entrance, whose name they soon learned.  
  
"Melissa, have Helen try to raise Sam again. Should that fail, I have absolutely no qualms bringing the office of the White House Chief of Staff into this. If he won't talk to me, we'll bounce it through Leo McGarry." The young aide nodded and slipped off. Conrad looked up as Sydney and Vaughn appeared. "Agents, it's nice to finally meet you. I wish it could've been under better circumstances. I know you were supposed to have this day off and I apologize for that."  
  
"It's all right, sir," Sydney said.  
  
Conrad nodded. "If you'll all come with me." The four filed out of the conference room and down the maze of corridors to the Director's office. His assistant, Helen, was on the telephone and they merely slipped into the plush office. "Have a seat."  
  
Vaughn pulled another chair to Conrad's desk as Crystal and Sydney sat down.  
  
"Initial thoughts?" asked Conrad.  
  
Crystal didn't hesitate before speaking. She and Conrad had worked together for a long time. "Have we heard back from the surveillance team? Have they been able to follow the double back to the man?"  
  
Conrad shook his head. "They're too smart for that; I think they know we're onto them. We're getting laser microphones as we speak. They've taken some rooms at a hotel; we're going to see if we can't listen in on what they're talking about. Maybe we can figure out where Jordan is that way."  
  
"Can I ask a question?" Sydney asked.  
  
"Of course," said Conrad, leaning back in his chair slightly.  
  
"Are you certain this guy'll go after her cousin in California? That's a bi-coastal killing and would be quite an operation. If he's only known she's been alive for three days, how likely is it that he'll know her name and that she has a cousin running for Congress in California?"  
  
"Should the unthinkable occur," began Conrad, "and Crys gets killed, it'll be obvious that she has a famous cousin who's mourning her at her funeral. By then, we've got less time to make sure he's protected and he'll probably also be a Congressman. I don't want to take my chances."  
  
"Excuse me, Director, Agents." Helen appeared at his door. "No go on getting through Seaborn's men. Leo McGarry is on the phone for you."  
  
"Thanks, Helen." He clicked the blinking light on his phone, putting the line on speaker. "Leo?"  
  
"Rob, what can I do for you?"  
  
"You know Victor Jordan is here."  
  
"Yeah, I got that in my morning briefing briefly."  
  
"I apologize for the shortness of that meeting this morning, but there's an agent here, the one who lived."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"She's the cousin of your former Deputy Communications Director."  
  
"Sam?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"And he..."  
  
"Which is why I need your help. He won't take our calls. We want him protected. Heaven knows his cousin is about to have a coronary in my office because of this."  
  
"What can I do?"  
  
"He'd answer your phone call, wouldn't he?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"I need you to call him and we have to talk to him. His people know our number from caller ID and won't let us get anywhere near him."  
  
"So, how do you want to do this, Rob? You gonna come by my office when I call? Put it on conference?"  
  
"Well, I'd prefer we not bounce the feed all over town. Plus, I want Crystal Seaborn there, along with another pair of agents."  
  
"When?"  
  
"Well, here's the other thing. I don't want her traveling on the ground. She's the main target and I don't want to give him a chance to catch a glimpse of her, especially if they see us entering the main gates of the White House. I want to fly her in."  
  
"A helicopter?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I'll have to alert the Secret Service, some others."  
  
"How long will that take?"  
  
"Half an hour."  
  
"Call us when you're set."  
  
"Will do."  
  
With the phone call ended, Conrad called for Helen and discussed a brief to-do list for her before returning his attention to the three in his office. "Within the hour, I want all of us in the air for the White House."  
  
"Air travel really isn't necessary, sir," said Crystal.  
  
"Yes. It is. Above the clouds is better than being stuck in traffic. And God forbid he get the idea to take you out *at* the White House." He looked at Sydney and Vaughn. "I want you to go with us. Contact your field office; see what's going on, what ideas they have and be prepared to help convince the candidate. Crys, we're gonna talk about your personal protection."  
  
~~~  
  
"Why are there people landing on my lawn and the Service isn't picking me up and taking me somewhere safe?" asked President Josiah--Jed-- Bartlet in the middle of the Senior Staff meeting.  
  
"That's an astonishingly good question, Mr. President," said Josh Lyman, the Deputy Chief of Staff.  
  
Leo spoke up. "Mr. President, that's something I was going to tell you about after this meeting."  
  
"Do we need to discuss this now?" asked the President.  
  
"Probably," acknowledged Leo.  
  
"Okay. Clear out, guys."  
  
The Senior Staff stood, thanked the President, and started to leave the Oval Office but Leo spoke up. "Josh, stick around, please."  
  
Josh glanced at the other members of the Senior Staff--Press Secretary C.J. Cregg, Communications Director Toby Ziegler and Deputy Communications Director Will Bailey. "Sure." Once they all filed out, Josh closed the door.  
  
"Well?" asked Bartlet.  
  
"This morning's intelligence briefing... the agent who survived Jordan's killing," began Leo.  
  
"Yeah?" prompted the President.  
  
"She's Sam's cousin."  
  
"Sam doesn't have a cousin," said Josh, shaking his head. "Two brothers, yes, but, no cousin."  
  
"Actually, Josh, yeah he does. She's CIA," explained Leo.  
  
"Come again?"  
  
"She's a field agent for the CIA. She's the one who narrowly escaped her name being inscribed in the book at Langley," said Leo.  
  
"And the report said..." Bartlet drifted off. "Oh. Oh my God..."  
  
"So, that's DCI Conrad, Crystal Seaborn, and a couple agents coming off the helicopter now," said Leo.  
  
"What are they doing here?" asked Josh.  
  
"Sam's being a stick in the mud about security. His staff won't let the CIA calls go through, so they're here to get a call out to him. He may not listen to the CIA, but he should listen to us," said Leo.  
  
"We're going to have to tell the press something," said Josh. "That's a unmarked black Bell Jet on the White House lawn and C.J.'s gonna get bombarded."  
  
"Press is out at OEOB, for starters. C.J. tossed them out before staff," said Leo. "Besides, we can tell them the CIA Director was flying to, I dunno, BWI for a cross-country trip, his helo had trouble, and we cleared the airspace for it to land."  
  
"Yeah, 'cause that's believable..."  
  
"It'll go out with the trash; it's Friday," said Leo. "Right now we have more important things to worry bout. There's at least one *field* operative on the lawn who has to come in without being seen by too many people."  
  
"Somebody go bring her inside," said Bartlet.  
  
"Excuse me, Mr. President," Josh said, heading for the door to the portico. He exited the Oval and crossed the South Lawn to greet the helicopter.  
  
"Josh," Conrad said cordially as he stepped off the helicopter.  
  
"Director, is there anything I can do?"  
  
"Actually, yeah. In a moment, I'm going to ask a woman to get off the helicopter and I need you to guide her inside as quickly as possible and in a room where she won't be seen by too many people."  
  
"Leo and the President are the only ones in the Oval."  
  
"The Press?"  
  
"They won't be a problem."  
  
Conrad nodded, and looked into the helicopter. "C'mon, Crys."  
  
Conrad handed the brunette out of the aircraft and to Josh, who started to walk her inside.  
  
"My name is Josh Lyman; I'm the White House Deputy Chief of Staff," he said gently as they headed for the building.  
  
"Crystal Seaborn, field ops, hi, how are ya?"  
  
"A little shocked my best friend didn't tell me he had a cousin."  
  
"If it's any consolation, he didn't tell me you were his best friend."  
  
A Marine guard opened the door to the Oval and they stepped inside. "Mr. President, Leo, this is Crystal Seaborn. Agent Seaborn, President Jed Bartlet and his Chief of Staff, Leo McGarry," said Josh.  
  
"Agent Seaborn, it's an honor to meet you," said Bartlet, extending his hand to her.  
  
"Likewise, Mr. President," she said, shaking his hand.  
  
"Are you hanging in there all right?"  
  
"Of course, sir."  
  
The rest of the CIA group entered soon after, and Conrad did the remaining introductions.  
  
"Agents Vaughn and Bristow... the Alliance case?" asked Bartlet.  
  
"Yes, sir," answered Vaughn.  
  
"We have a veritable who's who of American espionage in the room as I understand it," the President said.  
  
"Yes, sir, and we'd like to use your phone," said Conrad.  
  
"About that, the call would have to go through his assistant, Debbie Fiderer if we call from here and it would have to be logged. Let's call from my office; it's less obvious," said Leo. Bartlet nodded his agreement. "Go make sure my doors are closed, Josh, and that Margaret stays out till we're all clear."  
  
His deputy darted ahead, leaving a relatively stunned Vaughn and Sydney in the Oval with the President. Crystal was too focused on the threat rather than who was standing with her.  
  
"Rob, would Secret Service help Sam?" asked Bartlet.  
  
"If he'll agree, we can have a team of plain-clothed CIA agents surrounding him within a half hour," said Conrad. "It's a matter of getting him to agree to it."  
  
"Surely his cousin can talk some sense into him?" asked Bartlet.  
  
"We'll find out, sir," Crystal said.  
  
Josh reentered the Oval. "All clear."  
  
Stay tuned...  
  
Lines from the next installment:  
  
"You're suggesting we intentionally target a civilian? A high profile one at that..."  
  
Sydney nodded again.  
  
"He's my *cousin*. He's my only real family and you want to..." Crystal couldn't even finish the sentence. 


	2. Chapter 2 of 12

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.  
  
Previously, on the West Wing/Alias: Sydney and Vaughn are in Washington for a day off to be followed by some hobnobbing but are called into work. An international terrorist is targeting one of the West Wing's own because of his cousin, a CIA agent. Worried for his safety, the CIA tries to get the candidate, ten days out from his election, some protection, and attempt to use the White House as a back channel.  
  
The CIA contingent followed Leo into his office. Conrad sat down across from Leo's desk, and tried to coax Crystal into sitting beside him. Sydney and Vaughn stood behind the leather chairs while Josh lingered by the desk as his boss dialed.  
  
"I'm going to call the headquarters first, find out where he is and see if we can catch him on a landline," Leo explained, putting the phone on speaker.  
  
"Seaborn for Congress," answered a perky volunteer.  
  
"Can you tell me where the candidate is right now?" Leo asked.  
  
"Let me check the schedule..." There was silence for a moment, and Crystal removed her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Sir?"  
  
"I'm here," said Leo.  
  
"He's at the Garden Grove Community Center."  
  
"You don't happen to have the phone number there, do you?"  
  
The campaign worker prattled off the telephone number.  
  
"Thank you very much." He terminated the call, and started to dial again.  
  
"Why didn't we think of that?" Conrad asked.  
  
"Because we wouldn't know the inner workings of a political campaign if they came up and bit us in the ass?" asked Crystal, sliding her glasses back on her face.  
  
"Could be."  
  
The rings of the speakerphone were soon replaced with a deep voice: "Garden Grove Community Center."  
  
"Is the Seaborn campaign there?"  
  
"Yeah, they're just wrapping up."  
  
"I need to speak with someone from the campaign," said Leo.  
  
"Let me see what I can do, sir, hold on."  
  
Elevator music replaced the silence from before.  
  
Josh looked at Crystal. She had green eyes instead of Sam's blues. She sort of looked like him, though. They were roughly the same height and had similar facial features... cheekbones and noses. "You want to sit down?" he asked her.  
  
She looked up at him. "I'm fine, thanks."  
  
"You want something to drink?" he offered. When she didn't tell him no, he continued. "Water? Juice?"  
  
"Water'd be great, thank you."  
  
"Sure," he said, slipping out of the office.  
  
"Scott Holcomb," said Sam's campaign manager.  
  
"Scott, this is Leo McGarry. I need to speak to Sam."  
  
He sighed. "Just a minute, Mr. McGarry." He lowered the phone, but they could hear him mutter: "Damned D.C. people. Somebody get the candidate, please. Tell him it's McGarry."  
  
"Nice to know we're making an impression," commented Conrad.  
  
There was a brief, muffled conversation and then another voice came on the line. "Leo?"  
  
"Sam, I have some people here who want to talk to you."  
  
Conrad looked at Crystal, who took her cue to speak. "Sam, it's Crys."  
  
"Crys? What are you doing at the White House?"  
  
"Trying to get a hold of you. Your guys wouldn't let CIA calls through."  
  
"What? What's going on? Are you okay?"  
  
"You should've received a phone call about two hours ago from state troopers wanting to send you protection."  
  
"Crys, please, the guy before me died, and of natural causes. I'm fine; I don't need guards."  
  
"Actually, you do. Sam, this is DCI Robert Conrad. We have sufficient reason to believe you're in mortal danger."  
  
"Why am I not getting this from the FBI or the Orange County authorities?"  
  
"It's an international threat," answered Leo.  
  
"What did I do to honk off a foreign power?" asked Sam incredulously.  
  
"You were born. More specifically, your cousin was and survived something no one else did. This person knows she survived and that puts you and she in danger," said Conrad.  
  
"Crys... what's going on?" Sam asked, pleading for a familiar voice with words of wisdom and reason.  
  
"It's his pattern. I survived so more have to die and usually it starts with family."  
  
"You have to be joking."  
  
"You're visible, Sam. You're visible and an easy target and we want to keep you safe. Please, let us help you," she implored.  
  
"If I have troopers all over me, the press'll start asking questions. We're a little over a week out and... Crys, I don't know that I like this."  
  
"Well, neither do I!"  
  
A hand softly touched her elbow, almost prompting Crys to come unglued. It was only Josh, with a sympathetic look and her glass of water.  
  
"Sam, I want you to talk to some of my agents here, Vaughn and Bristow. They're based out of LA and have been in contact with their office," said Conrad.  
  
Sydney stepped up to the phone. "Mr. Seaborn, this is Agent Bristow. We can have a team of plain clothed security experts dispatched to your campaign within the half hour. They'll look like volunteers or staffers. The press won't know anything's different."  
  
"Who is this guy?" asked Sam.  
  
"For that information, Sam, we'll send someone out to you for a complete briefing. Just be advised you're in serious danger," said Conrad.  
  
Sam sighed and was silent for a moment. "All right. Have your people come to the campaign headquarters; I can give you the address."  
  
"We have that. We're sending... who are we sending out to the campaign?" Conrad asked, looking at Vaughn and Sydney.  
  
"Among others, Mr. Seaborn, Jack Bristow and Eric Weiss," answered Sydney.  
  
"Any relation, Agent Bristow?" inquired Sam.  
  
"He's my father."  
  
"It's a family affair, isn't it?"  
  
Sydney glanced briefly at Vaughn. "I suppose so."  
  
"I hope this doesn't turn into an episode of the Man from UNCLE," said Sam with a sigh.  
  
"Too late," Crystal muttered.  
  
"If this guy is in D.C., why should I be worried?"  
  
"Sam, please!" Crystal begged.  
  
"I'm just asking how credible of a threat this is, Crys," he said sharply.  
  
Conrad jumped in. "One of his associates could be in Orange County right now. We're not about to take that chance."  
  
"Director--" Sam had barely gotten started when someone else interrupted.  
  
"It's plain-clothed CIA or very visible Secret Service because the President is very willing to deploy a team or six," said Leo.  
  
He sighed. "Fine. Fine. We're going back to the headquarters now."  
  
"We'll send some agents to you," said Conrad.  
  
"Make sure they know that I want to know *exactly* what's going on. I want to know who this guy is, why you think I'm in trouble, what this has to do with Crys. Everything."  
  
"All right," conceded Conrad. "They'll be there soon."  
  
"Hey, Crys..." began Sam.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine," she said, lying through her teeth.  
  
"I need this, right?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"All right."  
  
"Be safe, Sam," Josh said, piping up for the first time.  
  
"Keep an eye on her for me, Josh, please?" asked Sam.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Thanks," Sam said before ending the call.  
  
Conrad looked at Leo. "Mind if I order the op from here?"  
  
"By all means," said the Chief of Staff, pushing the phone closer to him.  
  
"Now the question becomes," said Conrad as he dialed, "what are we gonna do with you, Crys? You have a ten-foot bulls-eye painted on you."  
  
"You're gonna let me go home," she said simply.  
  
Conrad held up a finger to silence her for a moment. "Tell L.A. that it's a go. Send Jack Bristow with the brief." Hanging up, he looked at Crystal. "You will be very much dead if you go home."  
  
"C'mon, Robby. My name's not on the door; my number isn't listed."  
  
"It's not safe, Crys."  
  
"They would assume I'm not there because of the safety risk, so I stay there and be fine."  
  
"Or, they could assume nothing and go blow the place up for sport no matter what you do," said Vaughn, prompting Crystal to look at the California agent. "He sounds like that type of guy is all I'm saying."  
  
"And I'm saying I want to go home! I've been out of the country six months and for the past three days, I've been at the Farm. I want to sleep in my own bed, look at the view from my own window. This? This is bullshit, Robby. Let me go home."  
  
"I've always been easy on you. Always. Yes, you saved my ass in Egypt several years ago. Yes, I appreciate that. And I'm going to return the favor, but I will do so to the extent of putting you under Farm arrest if I must!" insisted Conrad.  
  
She sighed heavily before taking a sip of her water.  
  
"I'm looking out for you as one of my top agents, Crystal. I also want to watch your back because we're former partners."  
  
Sydney glanced at Vaughn, who was watching the scene play out between the Director and a fellow agent.  
  
"I want to go *home*, Robby. Not a hotel. Not the Farm. Somewhere *comfortable*."  
  
When Conrad didn't respond to her right away, Leo spoke up: "Do you two want the room?"  
  
Conrad shook his head. "We've spent too much time here as it is. We'll get going."  
  
"Can I do anything?" asked Josh. "I mean, Sam asked me to look out for her and I'd like to keep my word to my best friend."  
  
"I don't think you can be of much good to me, honestly. Unless you're, I dunno, Superman under that Clark Kent suit," Crystal said.  
  
"Pardon me while I find the nearest phone booth," Josh shot back.  
  
"We'll let you know, Josh," Conrad assured him. "In the meantime... thank you for the use of your phone and the South Lawn."  
  
"Are you still having the CIA dinner tonight?" asked Leo.  
  
Conrad smiled. "I'd actually forgotten, but yeah. Senate and House Intelligence are both going to be there. The White House offer still stands."  
  
Josh glanced at Leo. "I think we should accept, don't you?"  
  
"Probably a good idea. I'll see what's on the President's plate, but you and I'll go, definitely."  
  
Josh looked at Crystal. "Guess I'll see you tonight?"  
  
"We'll see," she said, still hoping she could talk her way home.  
  
~~~  
  
"Mr. Seaborn?"  
  
Sam looked up at the young aide. "Yeah?"  
  
"There are some people here to see you. They say they have an appointment, but it's not on the schedule."  
  
"What's the name?"  
  
"Bristow," she answered.  
  
"Send him in," Sam said, standing up and straightening his tie. "And pull Scott out of whatever he's doing. He probably needs to be here for this, too."  
  
The aide nodded and disappeared as a gray-haired gentleman entered. He had dark--were they black?--eyes and a serious, deadly expression and demeanor. Another man entered, in a similar suit. He was younger, with dark hair and eyes, but he seemed so much more approachable. Friendly even.  
  
Jack Bristow waited to speak until the door was closed. "Mr. Seaborn, my name is Jack Bristow, this is Agent Eric Weiss."  
  
Sam extended his hand to them, shaking Jack's then Eric's hands. "Hello. Before you get into too much detail, I want my campaign manager in to hear everything."  
  
"I don't think so, Mr. Seaborn," said Jack. "The fewer who know about this the better. If it weren't for a direct order from the DCI, I wouldn't be relaying this information to you right now."  
  
The door to the office opened, and Weiss and Jack turned towards the door to see Scott Holcomb standing there. "Sam? What's up?"  
  
"I can't make the three o'clock. Think you could find somebody to send in my place?" asked Sam.  
  
Scott sighed. "You couldn't have told me earlier?"  
  
"Something came up."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Something. Would you please fix the schedule?"  
  
"You can't be doing this, Sam. We're ten days out. One cancelled event means one hundred voters aren't going to bother to show up for you because you wouldn't bother to show up for them."  
  
"You're going to have to clear it. And I need my office, so, if you'll excuse us?"  
  
Scott glanced at Weiss and Jack, then left, closing the door behind him.  
  
Sam sighed slightly. "Can I get you two anything? Coffee?" After both declined, he gestured towards the seats across from his desk. "At least sit, please."  
  
Weiss did but before Jack did, he handed Sam a file folder. "Inside is a biographical compilation of the threat, as well as what has brought him to our attention in regards to you."  
  
Sam flipped through the information, skimming through it, when he froze for a moment.  
  
"I'm assuming the picture you've found is that of the hotel suite in Borneo," said Jack.  
  
"Couldn't tell for all the blood," he said quietly.  
  
"Jordan leaves no survivors. He's discovered, however, that he left one in that room."  
  
Sam looked up. "Oh, my God... Crys was here?"  
  
Jack nodded. "She survived. They ran into each other in London and now he's back to finish the job."  
  
"Is she okay?"  
  
"She's in good hands, Mr. Seaborn," Weiss said.  
  
"And now so are you. You're a target. If he can't get to her, he could kill you to draw her out," explained Jack. "Which is why we're here... joining your campaign."  
  
Sam nodded. "All right."  
  
Weiss started going through a laundry list of things they needed access to so he could be safe. Jack stopped him when he saw that Sam wasn't really paying attention, too focused on the image of the Borneo hotel suite. "Mr. Seaborn?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"She's fine."  
  
"Your daughter's in this business, Agent Bristow. How can you stand it?"  
  
Weiss glanced from Sam to Jack, wanting to see how he answered it as well.  
  
"It is, at times, rather difficult..."  
  
"At least you know," Sam said.  
  
"Know what?" asked Jack.  
  
"Where she is. What she's doing. I don't know until three years later that she could've died like this," he said, holding up the picture, a sober expression on his face.  
  
"It's her job."  
  
"The job sucks."  
  
"I dunno, there is, occasionally, something to be said for this line of work," piped in Weiss.  
  
"Like what?" asked Sam.  
  
"Like protecting the people you care about," Weiss answered.  
  
Sam shook his head. "Your job sucks."  
  
"Mr. Seaborn, if she didn't want to be in the CIA, she wouldn't be," said Jack, jumping back into the conversation.  
  
"No. She was taken. She was vulnerable and some guy came in and offered her the world and she took it. She was seventeen years old. She couldn't vote. She couldn't drink. She'd barely had her license a year. Don't try to console me. You're part of the organization that has her and won't give her back."  
  
"She's had the opportunity to get out, Mr. Seaborn. The door is open to any of us who want out."  
  
Sam shook his head. "No, it's not."  
  
"I met her when she was first recruited." Sam's eyes flew to Jack's. "She told me that she wanted to be there. She wanted to learn. She wanted to become the best of the best. There were times I saw her pushing herself so much harder than the rest of the cadets in training that I finally had to stop and ask her why. She said it was for her family. Not her parents necessarily, but one family member in particular. She's willing to give the ultimate sacrifice... for you."  
  
"I don't want her to!"  
  
"You don't have the authority to tell her that. It's her decision to make. And if your personal protection was her decision, don't doubt for a moment she'd be here. She is not because of the risks to you and she understands that. And she's putting up with the agents guarding her, albeit begrudgingly, just as you'll be putting up with us. As soon as this is over, I'm sure there will be a brief reunion of sorts before her next mission."  
  
"Have you seen her recently?" asked Sam.  
  
Jack sighed slightly. "Just on a video conference this morning."  
  
"Did you see her in Borneo?"  
  
"I've spent the past few years on another mission, Mr. Seaborn. If you'll allow us access to the areas we require, you'll be secure and we'll have more time to... chat... later."  
  
"The only problem you're going to run into is my campaign manager who wants to be in on everything," said Sam.  
  
"He won't be a problem," Jack said confidently.  
  
"Then, I'll let you deal with him. Something else... You do know that the President is coming this weekend for a pre-Get Out the Vote initiative, right?"  
  
"We'll take that up with Director Conrad and see what he wants to do," said Jack.  
  
Sam nodded. "I'll get you guys credentials printed up. Whatever you need, just... go for it."  
  
~~~  
  
The CIA Headquarters was abuzz with activity but the most spirited debate was going on in the DCI's conference room just off his office. Conrad, Sydney, Vaughn, and Crystal were in the windowless room, discussing potential operations to take Jordan down.  
  
"We still have to find him first," said Crystal.  
  
"And we're looking," Conrad began. "I just want us to have some options for when we find him because I want him down as quickly as possible."  
  
"You think I don't?" asked Crystal, arching an eyebrow.  
  
"Crys... you haven't slept in three days. I think you're getting a little agitated."  
  
"Agitated?"  
  
"What about getting him in California?" asked Sydney, not wanting the meeting to descend into another bickering contest between the Director and Crystal.  
  
Conrad looked at her. "What do you mean?"  
  
"What about forcing him to California? He's on our timetable, we're not waiting for him to strike..."  
  
"How do we force him to California, though?" asked Crystal.  
  
"Well, there are a few potential avenues..." started Sydney.  
  
"Such as?" prompted Conrad.  
  
"Well, we could make an obvious showing of Crystal flying to California to be with her cousin. Have her going out and about in town, commenting about it, wearing a campaign button, all of this... We make up a campaign stop somewhere out of the way, where he's not, build our own crowd with CIA agents, have someone up to introduce him, maybe even Crystal. He can take potshots at her and with the crowd being made entirely of our operatives, we can get him that way."  
  
"That's one idea," said Crystal, leaning back in her chair. "But, if we're all in a group, how is Jordan going to get close? What if he decides that, instead of taking potshots, he wants to blow us up? Plants some C-4 the day before we get there somewhere we can't find and boom. That's four hundred agents dead. I just don't like putting all of our eggs in one basket."  
  
"What's another avenue?" asked Conrad.  
  
Sydney looked at her. "Faking your death."  
  
"So, I'm dead. What does that do?"  
  
"It moves the target to California."  
  
"You're suggesting we intentionally target Sam?" Crystal asked incredulously.  
  
Sydney nodded.  
  
"You're suggesting we intentionally target a civilian? A high profile one at that..."  
  
Sydney nodded again.  
  
"He's my *cousin*. He's my only real family and you want to..." Crystal couldn't even finish the sentence.  
  
Conrad looked at Sydney. "Tell me more."  
  
"Well, even here we can do it one of two ways. We can either fake her death on our own. Fake some medical documentation, include a picture and a newspaper write-up... Or we could have her out in a kevlar vest and rig it the way Hollywood rigs its actors," said Sydney.  
  
"But, that would only work if he shot at her chest. If he aims high, her head is completely vulnerable, other parts of her body..." Vaughn said, drifting off.  
  
"It's also going to have to be realistic," said Sydney. "Sam's going to have to play along and I think it might be better if he didn't know ahead of time that it was a ruse."  
  
Crystal opened her mouth to protest but Conrad beat her to the punch. "The California team is going to have to know not to let it slip. Plus, we're going to need to get the FBI in on this. It'll be on their turf. I don't think they'll have too much of a problem with it, though."  
  
"He is ten days from the election! If it comes out between now and then that his cousin 'died', he goes to a funeral, and two days later, she's magically walking around back from the dead, it's going to *ruin* him!" said Crystal, finding her voice again and jumping out of her seat.  
  
"Who says the public has to know?" asked Vaughn.  
  
"She just did! And Robby did. Sam's going to have to play along. It's going to have to be on the news. He's got to have a public display of mourning. You want my picture on TV and in the papers. That ends my career. His career as a Congressman gets off to a lying start. Does anybody else see a problem with this?"  
  
Conrad sighed, and glanced at his watch before standing up. "Okay, tell you what. We won't put any plan into motion tonight. Agents Vaughn, Bristow, why you go back to your hotel, change, and come back for dinner. Crys... You need to get some sleep."  
  
"Do I get to go home?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then, forget it."  
  
"I can get the infirmary to *sedate* you, y'know," he said.  
  
She sighed heavily.  
  
"It's just a nap, Crys. You haven't slept since London."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"You didn't slam Josh into a wall when he touched you in Leo's office. You jumped. You were scared. You only get scared when you haven't slept."  
  
She looked up at him, with her tired eyes. "He's all I've got, Robby. He's it," she said softly.  
  
He wrapped a gentle arm around her. "C'mon. Naptime."  
  
Sydney slipped her jacket on as Conrad led Crystal from the room. "So, there are a few flaws..."  
  
"The entire CIA is on this. We'll get an answer, we'll get a plan, and we'll get this over with and go back to L.A."  
  
She smiled. "Does sound nice."  
  
"In the meantime... we've got to find a way back to the hotel." He smiled.  
  
"You did bring your tux, right?"  
  
He nodded. "It's going to be an interesting night, I think."  
  
"Why do you think that?"  
  
"Members of the Senate and House Intelligence Committees are going to be here. Do they know about what's going on? Are we going to be tiptoeing around the subject the whole night?"  
  
"They probably want to know about the Alliance," she said as they started for the door themselves.  
  
"What's there to know? It's gone."  
  
"Except for Sloane..."  
  
"We'll get him," he assured her. "C'mon. Let's get out of here."  
  
Stay tuned...  
  
Lines from the next installment:  
  
"What if it's like... like that movie? Face/Off?" suggested Weiss.  
  
"He could've surgically altered my campaign manager in the past three days? He arrived in Washington this morning. That's a little extreme, don't you think?" asked Sam. 


	3. Chapter 3 of 12

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.  
  
Previously, on the West Wing/Alias: Sam reluctantly agrees to protection, headed by Jack Bristow and Eric Weiss. Both Seaborns are on short fuses, one due to sleep depravation and the other to anxiety over the campaign, the family, and the agency he perceives is the threat. The D.C. crew prepare for an evening of socializing with the Intelligence society.  
  
"Wait, wait, wait," said Charlie, waving his hand in front of him. "She asked you if you were Superman under that Clark Kent suit?" Bartlet, his body man Charlie Young, Leo and Josh sat in the back of the Presidential limousine and discussing the events of the afternoon.  
  
"Yeah... So?" asked Josh.  
  
"And you told her to wait while you found a phone booth?" continued the young man.  
  
"What does that have to do with, y'know, anything?"  
  
Charlie started laughing, and the vicious laughing disease infected the President as well.  
  
"I still don't see how this is funny."  
  
"Is the Clark Kent suit your regular Tuesday suit?" Charlie asked, ribbing the Deputy Chief of Staff over a former crush.  
  
"And how is your continued quest to win back the heart of the fair Zoey?" asked Josh, turning the conversation around soundly.  
  
Charlie cleared his throat. "I love Zoey. It's only a matter of time before she realizes that pompous Frenchmen make lousy long-term prospects."  
  
"Because you're the one she's meant to be with?" asked Josh.  
  
"Josh, I'm going to stop you right there, because, as much as I dislike Jean-Paul Au Bon Pain, I would rather not think about my daughter's relationships."  
  
"But, mine are fair game, sir?" Josh asked the President.  
  
Bartlet nodded. "Yours don't involve any of my female relatives and are much more entertaining than Charlie's."  
  
"More entertaining? How so?" he asked, leaning back against the limousine seat.  
  
"Well, there was Mandy... How you ever got along with that firebrand is beyond me. Then there was something about the regular Tuesday suit and our pollster..." Bartlet, while he spoke, noticed that Josh shifted uncomfortably. "Then there was the former head of the Women's Leadership Conference... and now a CIA agent."  
  
"I'm not in a relationship with Sam's cousin."  
  
"But you want to be," said Charlie quickly.  
  
"Look, Sam asked me to watch out for her, that's all I want to do."  
  
"How close of a watch?" asked Charlie, grinning.  
  
Josh licked his lips. "Charlie, what would you say if Leo asked you to keep an eye on Mallory, just in case?"  
  
"I'd do what I could to help," he said seriously.  
  
"Right. So... Why is me telling that to Sam any different than if Leo asked you?"  
  
"Because you offered to show her what was under your Clark Kent suit," said Charlie, his grin returning.  
  
"If anything, she was being snippy and I was snippy right back," insisted Josh.  
  
Charlie shook his head. "It was snippy flirting. That's the only kind of flirting you know how to do."  
  
"And that's worse than declaring your undying love for the President's daughter and vowing to get her back?" Josh asked.  
  
"We weren't going to touch that subject," reminded Bartlet.  
  
"Sorry, sir, I was trying to make a point."  
  
"Josh, I think you've made your point a little too clearly," commented Leo. His deputy looked at him curiously. "You're vehemently protesting the fact that you flirted with a pretty albeit emotionally upset woman who happens to be related to your best friend."  
  
"No, I was trying to help my best friend's cousin because my best friend asked me to. Don't you three think we should be focusing on the terrorist threat at hand? Y'know, the fact that somebody's out to get Sam?"  
  
"How 'bout the fact that the members of the Congressional Intelligence Committees don't know what's going on yet and we don't want them to," said Leo. "And the fact that they're all going to be in attendance at this little soiree."  
  
He sighed slightly. "Yeah."  
  
"Speaking of which," said Charlie. "We just pulled up."  
  
~~~  
  
Crystal stood in the women's room at the sink in front of the mirrors. She held bobby pins between her teeth, trying to get her hair back up into something fancy for the party. While she didn't actually sleep, she did manage to lie down on the couch in Conrad's office for a few hours and that prompted a new hairstyle. She'd also changed from her business suit to an evening gown. It was a simple, no-frills sheath dress in a deep cobalt blue color. One of the thin spaghetti straps decided it liked sliding off her shoulder when she would lower her arm to retrieve another pin. She sighed slightly, deeply. She'd layered on concealer to hide the dark circles under her eyes. She'd also gone through half a bottle of eye drops trying to return her eyes to their natural white instead of her anxiety-ridden red.  
  
She glanced over when someone entered. It was Sydney, in a pale pink gown, strapless. Her hair was pulled back with a few stray tendrils framing her pretty face. She smiled a little and moved to stand beside Crystal, checking her lipstick in the mirror.  
  
"I'm sorry about earlier," Crystal said after she removed the last of the bobby pins from her mouth.  
  
"There's no need to apologize."  
  
"I'm just... I haven't slept. And I know it's starting to grate on me, it's gotta be grating on everybody else. Normally I can just push past it but I can't this time. It's all my fault. I lived."  
  
"That's not what we think."  
  
Crystal looked at her. She pondered something to say for a solid three minutes, while Sydney waited. She finally shook her head. "I can't think to say anything." She closed her eyes, exhaling. "I just... want to make it through tonight."  
  
"Why don't you go home?"  
  
"Besides the Conrad factor?"  
  
Sydney realized her faux pas and nodded. "Yeah."  
  
"I'm an expected guest." She placed the last bobby pin in her hair. "Just like you. We've made the A-list of spies. There are times when I don't know a good thing or a bad thing."  
  
"What happened to your glasses?" she asked, noticing Crystal's wire framed spectacles were missing.  
  
"I put contacts in figuring it could explain away what little redness I have left."  
  
"If it's any consolation... I know how much it hurts to know somebody you love is a target."  
  
Crystal looked at her. "I know you know. We all know. We've all had it happen. You, me, your father, Agent Vaughn... You know what I pray every night before I go to bed?" she asked, gathering her things back up.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"That one day, this job is obsolete. That human intelligence isn't going to be necessary." She smiled a little. "I'm still waiting on that day."  
  
"Me, too."  
  
"I realize we got off to a bumpy start, and I apologize for that, Agent Bristow."  
  
"Call me Sydney."  
  
Crystal glanced up at her, zipping up hair and makeup kit. "Crys."  
  
~~~  
  
"Is there a reason we walked six miles? I mean, honestly?" asked Weiss as he collapsed into a chair at the campaign headquarters.  
  
"Scott thinks it makes me look like a regular person," said Sam, pulling three bottles of water out of the little campaign fridge and handing him one.  
  
"It also makes you an easily-hit target," commented Jack as he uncapped his bottle.  
  
"Well, I can either tell Scott that I can't be doing that and give him the reason why, or I can tell him, not give him a reason, and he can tell me to take a hike, literally, so... It's up to you guys. You're the experts."  
  
Weiss and Jack exchanged glances. "Are there any more walking jaunts on your schedule in the next few days?" asked Jack.  
  
Sam picked up a binder from a messy desk and started flipping through it. "Doesn't look like it, but sometimes there are things added at the last minute."  
  
"We're just going to have to prevent that," said Weiss.  
  
"I'll tell Scott to cut the walking tours. I think he wanted them so I can look young and athletic and... Whatever." He flopped into a chair, putting the notebook back on the desk. "If you guys try to tell him, he'll start off on this tangent about how the DNC put him here and he's the one who has to make the calls and..." He sighed. "This is not at all what I thought this campaign would be."  
  
"I would hope you didn't actually add being targeted by an international terrorist on your list of things to make a dream campaign," said Weiss.  
  
Sam actually smiled, shaking his head. "No, it's just... I don't know. For starters, I didn't even think I'd be here, running right now. Horton Wilde was supposed to lose. A Democratic Candidate hasn't won in this district in... a long time. And yet..."  
  
"Here you are," said Weiss.  
  
Sam nodded. He decided to change the subject. "What's going on in Washington tonight?"  
  
"The CIA is continuing with its planned dinner while most agents worry with your problem," said Jack.  
  
"The CIA has dinners?" Weiss asked, looking up at Jack.  
  
"Oh, sure. All the agencies have them, usually. At least one," said Sam before taking a long swig of his water.  
  
"How come we've never been to one of the dinners?" asked Weiss.  
  
When Jack didn't say anything, Sam spoke up. "Looks like you're the odd one out, Agent Weiss."  
  
"Well... darn."  
  
"Getting back to the security issue, Mr. Seaborn... how trustworthy is Scott Holcomb?" asked Jack.  
  
Sam shrugged. "I hadn't really heard of him before, but he's supposedly this rising star of the Democratic Party, one of the best at campaigning... although I must say that has yet to be seen."  
  
"What has he done before this?" asked Jack.  
  
Sam shrugged.  
  
"I want our people to look him up," Jack said, looking at Weiss, who pulled out a palm pilot and made a note.  
  
"You think he's... in on this?" asked Sam incredulously.  
  
"I want to make sure he's not."  
  
"The Director said this guy's only known Crystal's been alive for three days. This campaign has been decidedly longer than three days. There's no way he could've swapped him in mid-stream; we would've noticed."  
  
"What if it's like... like that movie? Face/Off?" suggested Weiss.  
  
"He could've surgically altered my campaign manager in the past three days? He arrived in Washington this morning. That's a little extreme, don't you think?" asked Sam.  
  
"It's a thought," Weiss said.  
  
"You guys are from L.A.," said Sam. "That's movie magic, that's not real."  
  
"Never underestimate a terrorist threat, Mr. Seaborn," Jack said ominously.  
  
~~~  
  
"Can I get a Scotch, please?" Josh asked, appearing at the bar. The bartender nodded and started to pour the drink as Josh glanced around. His eyes landed on Vaughn. "You're the guy from this morning?"  
  
Vaughn looked up. "Yeah."  
  
"You're uh..." He drifted off, not remembering the name.  
  
"Vaughn. Michael Vaughn."  
  
Josh held out his hand, and Vaughn shook it. "Nice to meet you."  
  
"Likewise."  
  
"How long have you worked with the Agency?" he asked, finally getting his Scotch.  
  
"A while."  
  
Josh nodded. "Know that feeling."  
  
Vaughn smiled.  
  
"What's it like?"  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"CIA."  
  
"Like any other job."  
  
"Ah'kay..." he said skeptically.  
  
"Only with guns and danger and intrigue."  
  
Josh smiled. "I'm sure." He took a sip of his drink. "Have you seen Crystal?"  
  
"Not in about two hours. She was supposed to be sleeping as I understand it."  
  
"Did she?"  
  
Vaughn shrugged.  
  
"Are you and Agent Bristow an item?" Josh asked, watching as Vaughn took a sip of his own drink.  
  
He swallowed it and coolly looked at the White House Deputy Chief of Staff. "I was her handler when she was a double agent in the Alliance."  
  
"There's nothing else?"  
  
"No," he lied. "We work together; we have a professional relationship."  
  
"I see. Sorry for jumping to conclusions."  
  
"It's all right."  
  
"Ever been to one of these parties?" asked Josh, glancing around the room.  
  
"Can't say that I have, no."  
  
"Some pointers?" offered Josh.  
  
"Please."  
  
"Keep moving. Less of a chance you'll get bogged down in a conversation you don't want to be in. If that fails, it never hurts to have one of those pagers where, if you push one button, it goes off. Great excuses to slip away and regroup."  
  
"What about a cell phone?"  
  
"So long as you can be casual about it," he said with a nod.  
  
"Thanks for the tip."  
  
He nodded. "Might want to share it with your partner," he said, gesturing in the direction of Sydney, who had just entered with Crystal.  
  
Vaughn started to take a step towards her then stopped and glanced back at Josh. "Ask her to dance."  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"Crystal. You should ask her to dance."  
  
"Thanks, Agent Vaughn."  
  
Vaughn nodded and continued on towards Sydney as Josh downed the rest of his Scotch in one gulp.  
  
"Another, Mr. Lyman?" asked the bartender.  
  
Josh shook his head. "No, thanks." He mingled his way through the party, chatting briefly with the leading experts in the field of espionage and intelligence when he saw Crystal. She'd gotten terribly stuck in a conversation and it seemed as though she couldn't get out of it. Her olive green eyes were glazing over and her head was tilted slightly to one side as a rather longwinded Senator spoke to her about things she obviously wasn't at all interested in or paying attention to. He gently placed his hand on her lower back, causing her to jump. He smiled slightly at her, placing his free hand on her wrist, then looked at Senator Osborne. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Senator, but I do believe that Director Conrad said he was looking for you."  
  
"Oh, very well," said the older gentleman, wandering away.  
  
She exhaled, watching the Senator go. "Thank you," she said quietly.  
  
"Anytime," he murmured.  
  
She closed her eyes. His hands were warm, comforting. His voice was soothing. She was so tired and was absolutely ready to fall asleep standing in her three-inch heels right there.  
  
"Would you care to dance?" he asked.  
  
She opened her eyes slowly. "Very well."  
  
Josh turned her around and pulled her gently into his arms. There wasn't music so much as so much as the din of the people around them carrying on conversations and they weren't exactly performing steps but rather were just in each other's arms. Josh held her hand against his chest and smiled slightly when her head found its way to his shoulder. The very tip of her nose brushed past his neck. She inhaled deeply, getting a delicious whiff of his spicy cologne.  
  
He pulled her tenderly closer, his thumb gently stroking her back through the thin fabric of her dress. He closed his own eyes, just for a moment, ignoring the fact that they were at a pompous dinner party with boring people. For the moment, he was going to hold a beautiful woman against him and focus on the warmth of her body, the softness of her skin, and the evenness of her breathing.  
  
Across the room, Vaughn handed Sydney a champagne flute he'd snagged from a passing server. Taking a sip, she watched the lone dancing pair near the opposite wall.  
  
"Think it's a lack of sleep?" Vaughn asked.  
  
"I know it is."  
  
"Is she going to be okay?"  
  
She shrugged. "Have we heard anything from the team with the laser microphones?"  
  
He shook his head. "Not yet. I'm trying to keep an eye on the Director, though. I figure someone will come in and whisper something to him and he'll slip away and that'll mean... that something's going on at the very least."  
  
She took another sip of her drink. "Dad called me earlier."  
  
"What's going on over there?"  
  
"Apparently her cousin doesn't appreciate her line of work."  
  
"This job seems to be a family thing. Your parents, my father..."  
  
She nodded.  
  
"How's he adjusting, by the way?"  
  
"Sam?"  
  
He smiled. "Your father to being a campaign 'volunteer'?"  
  
"He says it's a little stressful. There are a lot of people, a hectic schedule..."  
  
"I can only imagine."  
  
"Weiss is having the same kinds of... adventures." She smiled.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Apparently there's a lot of walking involved in a campaign."  
  
"I see."  
  
"They're looking into a few things on their end."  
  
"Any real potentials?"  
  
She shrugged. "We'll find out."  
  
"In the meantime..."  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Would you care to dance?"  
  
She smiled. "Sure."  
  
Vaughn pulled Sydney into his arms and kept seemingly the same beat as Josh and Crystal, which perplexed the CIA Director, who was watching from across the room. "Is there something in the water?"  
  
Leo looked at him, unsure of the cause of his question. "Come again?"  
  
Conrad nodded to the dancing couples. "I don't hear music... do you hear music?"  
  
"Perhaps you should invest in a DJ next time," said the White House Chief of Staff.  
  
"Here's my question, though: are the members of the intel committees going to think our top agents are crazy?" he asked, sipping his drink.  
  
"Just fun-depraved," said Bartlet. "Y'know, Rob, we have bands at our get-togethers."  
  
"We'll allocate some funds for music next time," Conrad assured him.  
  
"Plus..." started Bartlet. "They probably need a little escape."  
  
"Well... I think little is going to be the operative word," Conrad said, spying his assistant Helen, approaching them. She handed him a slip of paper, which he read. "Get Bristow and Vaughn."  
  
"What about Seaborn?"  
  
He shook his head, handing the slip to the President. "I don't want her in on this yet."  
  
Helen nodded, crossing the room to retrieve the California agents as Bartlet read the paper.  
  
"This isn't good, is it?" Bartlet asked, looking up at Conrad.  
  
"No, sir. If you'll excuse me?"  
  
Bartlet returned the paper. "Of course."  
  
Conrad met Vaughn and Sydney at the door, and the three slipped out and started for his office. "There's been a development," Conrad said.  
  
"Sir?" asked Sydney.  
  
"We've got audio from the hotel where our double is holed up. It's being transferred to my office right now."  
  
"Any clue what it's about?" Vaughn asked.  
  
"No... but I have a bad feeling about it," Conrad said as he opened the door to his office and charged inside. Pulling up his computer, he selected the transferred file.  
  
There was a slight humming sound, and then a voice. "There's been a change in plan. A new mark. We leave tonight," said a voice.  
  
"What about the original one?" asked another.  
  
There was silence for a moment before the first voice spoke again. "This is to bring the first mark to us. Pack up. We're moving in fifteen."  
  
The audio feed ended there. Conrad exhaled. "Call your father, Agent Bristow. We'll forward this to him."  
  
"If they're leaving from one of the nearby airports, won't we be able to catch them?" asked Vaughn. "There are, what, three... and with the national increase in security, shouldn't we be able to stop them?"  
  
"I want Jack to know Sam's now the primary target. We're bugging the SUV at the hotel, hopefully we'll be able to track the double to his boss."  
  
Sydney nodded. "What about Agent Seaborn?"  
  
"I'm not sure I want her to know," admitted the Director. "At least not yet."  
  
"Our absence will be suspicious in the ballroom, though," said Vaughn.  
  
Conrad nodded. "Agent Bristow, call Jack, bring him up to speed. Agent Vaughn, head back to the party; we'll be there soon."  
  
The two agents acknowledged Conrad and split. Conrad picked up his phone, sitting down at his desk. After dialing, he encrypted and sent the audio surveillance to California. He called his counterpart at the FBI, informing him of what was going on and getting permission to access information at all the airports, getting flight data from all airlines as well as assurances that airport security would detain anyone meeting the description of the Jordan group.  
  
He hung up and stood, straightening his tie to return to the party when his phone rang. "Yes?" he answered.  
  
It was Helen. "Sir, can you hold for Agent Sinclair?"  
  
Conrad had a sinking feeling; Sinclair was leading the surveillance on the double. "Put him through."  
  
"Director..."  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"They took a cab."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And we lost them in traffic. We had two teams and four cars and..."  
  
"How hard is it to track six people in D.C.?"  
  
"Sir--"  
  
"It's our own Goddamn backyard!"  
  
"I'm sorry, sir."  
  
"Find them," seethed Conrad.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Conrad slammed the phone down and sighed. He had to go face government leaders and one of his own agents and pretend that nothing was wrong. It was going to be a fun night.  
  
He snagged a champagne flute the moment he returned to the ballroom. He needed a drink. Glancing around, he spotted Sydney and Vaughn in a conversation with the House's Intelligence Committee chairman. Bartlet and Leo were having a hushed conversation by themselves. Charlie and Josh were at the bar, waiting on drinks.  
  
He didn't see Crystal.  
  
At all.  
  
His eyes flashed panic-stricken for a fleeting moment before he stealthily crossed the room to Josh and Charlie. "Josh," he said, placing a hand on the man's shoulder.  
  
"Director?"  
  
"Where's Crystal?" he asked, sipping his champagne casually.  
  
"She stepped out on a smoke break," answered Josh.  
  
"Crystal doesn't smoke."  
  
"What?" asked Josh, looking up at Conrad.  
  
"She doesn't smoke," Conrad repeated, having a feeling the night was only going to get worse, not better. He took one more sip of his drink and sat it on the bar before heading out again, with Josh on his heels this time.  
  
"What's going on?" asked Josh.  
  
"An intelligence nightmare." Spotting a member of CIA security, Conrad flagged him over and took his radio. "Front gate, this is DCI."  
  
"What can I do for you, sir?" came the radio's reply.  
  
"I need a quiet gate lock-down. No one in or out until we can account for an agent. I need to know how many cars have left in the past twenty minutes and who was in them. Transfer the information to my office ASAP."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"If she left, so help me God," grumbled Conrad before depressing the talk button again. "Attention all Security. If you see Agent Crystal Seaborn--five-seven, brown, green, one twenty, last seen in a blue evening gown, escort her to DCI's office immediately. Repeat, we've got an agent MIA on the Farm."  
  
Stay tuned...  
  
Lines from the next installment:  
  
Jack hung up and looked at Weiss. "Change in plan."  
  
"Our guy's now Enemy Number One?"  
  
Jack nodded. "To draw out Agent Seaborn." 


	4. Chapter 4 of 12

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.  
  
Previously, on The West Wing/Alias: Four guys from the White House head to the CIA for an intelligence party. Crystal apologizes to Sydney for her behavior. In LA, Weiss complains of the campaign schedule and he, Jack, and Sam work on the candidate's security. Back on the Farm, Josh and Vaughn exchange advice and Conrad learns of a major change in Jordan's plot. Before the Director can relax that the new CIA strategy is being put into play, Crystal turns up missing.  
  
Crystal rubbed her arms in a veiled attempt to keep goose bumps at bay. She'd taken a step out of the building, telling Josh she needed a cigarette. She didn't smoke and hadn't in her life save when her alias had the vice. She'd wanted some air, though, a place to breathe, a place to think. And she found that place just outside the rear door near the ballroom. She'd even kicked off her heels and was standing in her stocking feet in the grass. She tried not to worry about Sam. She tried not to reflect on her experience in Borneo when she'd lost two colleagues and friends. She tried not to do the math, adding up her near-death experiences. All of her attempts failed as she simultaneously tried to come up with a course of action for Sam, mourned the loss of her friends again, as well as figured out, after a dozen or so years, she was down from nine lives to two.  
  
She was brought from her thoughts when she heard the door a few feet from her open and one of the CIA's security guards stepped out. The young man seemed to be looking for something, Crystal noted, and he was startled to come face-to-face with a placid Crystal.  
  
"Agent Seaborn?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"The DCI wants to see you."  
  
She sighed, stepping into her shoes. "Figures," she muttered. "Where is he?"  
  
"His office," he answered before lifting his radio to his lips and calling off the manhunt.  
  
Before he could even finish his announcement, Conrad pulled precedence over the radio. "Where is she?"  
  
"Exterior, East Lawn, sir," answered the guard.  
  
"Get her ass to my office *now*."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Crystal couldn't tell if Conrad was anxious over a break in the case or that he hadn't been able to find her and had pulled out all the stops to locate her. She sped through the halls in her high heels and didn't even bother to ask Helen's permission before bursting into Conrad's office. "Robby?"  
  
"What the hell were you doing outside?"  
  
"Getting air, wh--"  
  
"Why'd you tell Josh you were out for a cigarette?"  
  
"I wanted a minute to myself; I figured if I told him I was going for air, he'd offer to come with me. While he seemed like a really nice guy--"  
  
"Thanks," interjected Josh.  
  
"I wanted a minute--alone--outside," finished Crystal.  
  
"You scared me to death, Crys."  
  
"You think I'm that dumb, Robby? I *know* I can't go. I *know* if I go out, and get killed, Sam becomes the number one target and I *know* that I am *not* gonna let that happen!"  
  
"I just--"  
  
"I've been around the block a time or two, Rob. I know this guy. I've seen what he can do. I'll be damned if I let that happen to my cousin."  
  
Josh frowned slightly. He had cousins but he really didn't talk to them much. At all. They were just random relations he met at Joanie's funeral and saw for the second time at his father's. He didn't have that strong of a bond with anyone he was related to beyond his mother. He'd formed familial bonds with the White House staff but, as for family, he didn't... really even know.  
  
Conrad nodded slowly, letting Crystal's words sink in. "Then, I think we can work something out for tonight."  
  
"What do you mean?" she asked.  
  
"I think... so long as you don't go to your apartment, you can leave the Farm. Keep a low profile, stay with a friend, take it easy..."  
  
"Well, that's a great thought, Robby, but who'm I supposed to stay with?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Who do I know who's in-country who wouldn't mind overnight company?" she asked.  
  
Before Conrad could answer, Josh did. "Me."  
  
"Come again?" asked Crystal, looking at him.  
  
"I have a bed you could sleep in; I wouldn't mind."  
  
"You could ride to the White House in the motorcade," began Conrad, liking the idea the more he thought about it.  
  
"I... Thank you, Josh," Crystal managed.  
  
"I'll talk to the President and Ron Butterfield," said Josh, heading out.  
  
"I'll... I'll get the clothes from my office," Crystal said, more to herself than Conrad. "Thanks, Robby."  
  
"Just keep your head down, hm?"  
  
She nodded solemnly, heading out herself.  
  
~~~  
  
"I think the Director's got the right idea," Jack said. "I don't think Sam should know about this either."  
  
"Are you sure?" asked Sydney.  
  
"He's less than two weeks from his election; he doesn't need this stress of believing he's the primary target."  
  
"What about the knowledge that she's safe? Wouldn't that help?"  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
"All right," Sydney said skeptically.  
  
"You keep your Seaborn safe and I'll protect mine."  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"Good night, Sydney."  
  
"G'night, Dad."  
  
Jack hung up and looked at Weiss. "Change in plan."  
  
"Our guy's now Enemy Number One?"  
  
Jack nodded. "To draw out Agent Seaborn."  
  
"So, what do we do?"  
  
"Contact area airports, bus stations, train terminals... They'll be coming in under the radar. Have all passenger manifests transferred to Marshall. Let's see if he can decrypt any aliases Jordan and his men might have. I'm going to talk to Scott Holcomb, see what I can do about putting a lock on information going out of the campaign about locations of after- hours strategy or fundraising events."  
  
"How are you going to do that without telling him who you are; who we work for and why?"  
  
"Leave that to me; you've got two dozen phone calls to make."  
  
Weiss nodded, and stood.  
  
~~~  
  
The limousine ride back to the White House was a fairly quiet one. Crystal and Josh sat in the limo backwards, facing Leo, Charlie, and the President. Crystal's overnight bag sat on the floor at her feet. She'd managed to get her clothes from her trip cleaned while at the Farm, explaining why a woman who hadn't been home in months had an evening gown fit to wear at a dinner party with, among others, the President of the United States.  
  
"You have your car at the White House, Josh?" asked Leo as the motorcade turned onto Pennsylvania Avenue.  
  
"No, I took a cab this morning."  
  
"Why don't I have my guy drive you two home?" offered Leo.  
  
"We can take a cab," said Josh.  
  
"Which is the best, security-wise? Taking a car with a trusted driver who has a confidentiality agreement or taking a cab who could be driven by some madman with a gun?" asked Bartlet. "Crystal, you're our security expert here."  
  
"Taking the car with the driver you know. Particularly if your windows are tinted," she answered.  
  
"They are," said Leo before pulling out his cell phone to call and have his driver ready.  
  
"I need to grab some things from my office before I go, though," Josh said, glancing at Crys.  
  
She shrugged. "It's fine."  
  
"Is the press still in the building?" Josh asked, looking at Charlie.  
  
"C.J. called a full lid two hours ago."  
  
"So, the press is gone?" Josh asked further.  
  
"Should be," Charlie said, nodding.  
  
"Why don't you come in with me? I may need to make a phone call or two before we go," Josh said softly, looking at her.  
  
"Sure."  
  
When the motorcade came to a stop, the group in the limousine exited the back and split up. Bartlet walked to the Oval Office with Charlie and his Chief of Staff in tow. "Charlie... I'm going to need to talk with Ron Butterfield in the morning sometime. Actually, I need to sit down with both him and Robert Conrad, at least for half an hour."  
  
Charlie made a note of that on his PDA. "Debbie and I'll get right on scheduling that, sir."  
  
The group had reached the exterior office of the Oval. "Debbie'll get right on what?" Debbie Fiderer asked.  
  
As Charlie stopped to explain, Bartlet and Leo continued to the Oval. Leo made sure the doors were closed. "You got a minute to tell me what's up?"  
  
"We may have to cancel the California trip," Bartlet said with a sigh.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Conrad has confirmation that Jordan and his men are headed to California because Crystal is unavailable."  
  
"And if you show up with Sam..."  
  
"There are crossfire issues and security problems and..." Bartlet drifted off.  
  
"This is insane."  
  
"In the past five years, what hasn't been?"  
  
"Fair point," acknowledged Leo.  
  
Bartlet sighed slightly and untied his bowtie. "You headed home?"  
  
"I'm going to wait until he takes Josh and Crystal home."  
  
"We have other drivers at our disposal."  
  
"I need to catch up on some things. Plus, I want to make sure the two get here. Matt'll call me as soon as they're delivered safely."  
  
Bartlet nodded. "All right."  
  
"Is that all, sir?"  
  
"Politically, how will it look if I cancel on Sam?"  
  
"Diehards'll see it as a severe slap to the face. Moderates and conservatives will see it as a concrete split between Sam and the White House. Which... is either good or bad; there's no telling."  
  
"And if we send John instead?" asked Bartlet, referring to the Vice President.  
  
"That we don't care."  
  
"Just... wanted to make sure."  
  
"Are you going to cancel?"  
  
"If we have the Secret Service and the best in the CIA... just how in danger will I be?"  
  
"You'll have reached the level of danger where you're not going to be able to tell the 'Service you're still going. They're not going to want to take that chance."  
  
"I'm going to need somebody in my corner at this meeting or else I'm outnumbered," Bartlet said, looking knowingly at Leo.  
  
"Sir..."  
  
"You have some free time tomorrow?"  
  
"If I don't, I'll clear some time for Josh."  
  
"He'll back me up?"  
  
"He'll do what you say or what I tell him."  
  
Bartlet nodded. "Thanks, Leo; I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
"Thank you, Mr. President. Have a good night." Leo disappeared into his office through the door that connected it to the Oval.  
  
~~~  
  
Crystal sleepily followed Josh to his bullpen, where he leaned against the glass partition to talk to his assistant, Donna. "Any messages while I was out?"  
  
"Undersecretary of Labor called--"  
  
"It can wait."  
  
"Tommy from FDA."  
  
"That can wait."  
  
"Audrey from USDA."  
  
"Also can wait."  
  
"And Sam called."  
  
"Sam called? When?"  
  
"About an hour ago."  
  
"Did he say what he wanted to talk about?"  
  
"No, but I'm assuming it's the campaign trip this coming weekend. Speaking of which, isn't it early to be packing for it?" she asked, gesturing towards the suitcase.  
  
"Ah. Yeah. Not mine."  
  
"You picked up a suitcase bomb at the CIA? I figured they'd rather not have you play with explosives."  
  
"It's not a bomb; it's mine," Crystal said.  
  
Donna noticed her for the first time when she spoke. "Oh. I'm sorry..."  
  
"Donna, this is..." Josh puzzled over how to introduce Crystal.  
  
"Rebekah. Rebekah Morganstern. I happened to spy this guy at dinner tonight." She stopped, as if to ponder. "Spy. CIA. Ha! Anyway, we grew up in Connecticut together, went to temple... Haven't seen him in years. Just so happens I started working for Douglas on House Intelligence and my apartment's being fumigated. This sweetheart says he'll put up an old friend for the night. Isn't he something else?" Crystal asked, smiling at Donna.  
  
"Yeah, he is."  
  
"Anyway..." Crystal yawned. "Look at me; I'm farschlofn. You don't mind if we hurry this along, do you? Oy, I've been in these heels *all* day."  
  
"Of-of course not," stuttered Donna.  
  
"This is your office, Josh-ie? Look, a nameplate... Here, I'll take my luggage while you two talk shop."  
  
Josh vacantly gave her back the suitcase and watched her disappear into his office, a thousand questions forming in his head. He returned his attention to Donna, only after she waved her hand in front of his eyes. "Hm? Oh. Yeah. Sam?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Save the other messages for tomorrow and get out of here for tonight."  
  
She nodded again.  
  
"Okay. Great. G'night," he said, quickly disappearing into his office to find Crystal sitting on his desk. "I didn't realize my desk was clean enough for anyone to sit on it..."  
  
She gestured to the pile of files now in the chair across from his desk.  
  
"I see. By the way, how did you... Connecticut and..."  
  
"I did a little homework before we left the Farm."  
  
"You did?"  
  
"LemonLyman.com. First site I hit when I punched your name into a search engine." She smirked, a sexy, fun little smirk...  
  
"Ah..." He smiled. "I've been forbidden from visiting that site ever again."  
  
"They seemed awfully devoted."  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"And I downloaded a membership card." She held it up. "Rebekah's a proud, card-carrying member." Sure enough, she'd signed a fake name.  
  
"You did that really well, by the way," he said, heading for his chair. "You even had me believing it."  
  
"I'm that good."  
  
He smiled up at her and dialed Sam's number. "Let's see what's up with Sam."  
  
They listened to the rings on speakerphone before they heard a familiar voice. "Seaborn."  
  
"Seaborn, it's Lyman. S'up?"  
  
"Hey, Josh!"  
  
"How are you?"  
  
"Not bad. You?"  
  
"I'm learning how great your cousin is."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"She's something else."  
  
"Hey, now," she said.  
  
"Crys, you're there, too?"  
  
"Yeah. Robby was convinced if I was a good girl and kept a low profile I could see the city again, so long as I didn't go home."  
  
"So, where are you going?"  
  
"Your friend Clark Kent is putting me up for the night."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Clark Kent," Crys repeated.  
  
"I wasn't aware I was on speaking terms with the Man of Steel."  
  
"Yeah, you're not; just his alter ego," said Crystal.  
  
"I'm still lost. Josh, what's she talking about?"  
  
"Me."  
  
"Ah... I didn't know you had a guest bedroom."  
  
"I don't, but I have a very nice couch that I'll be sleeping on tonight."  
  
"I can stay somewhere else, Josh," she said.  
  
"C'mon. One of my oldest and dearest friends from home? You will sleep nowhere else," countered Josh.  
  
"Oldest and dearest friends from home? Are you two under the influence of something? Clark Kent... old friends...?" asked Sam.  
  
"She made up this story she told Donna and that was part of it. Not the Clark Kent part."  
  
"You lied to Donna?" asked Sam.  
  
"So?" asked Crystal.  
  
"It was a sight to behold, Sam. You'll have to ask Donna about Rebekah Morganstern when we come out," said Josh.  
  
"That's why I called, actually."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Yeah... with this... thing going on with this guy... do you guys still want to come out?"  
  
"We'll be there, Sam," Josh assured him.  
  
"Won't the Secret Service get worried?"  
  
"They let an unmarked, black helo land on the South Lawn. I rode back to the White House with the President... no problem. CIA's spearheading it; there's major FBI influence. Plus, as long as I'm still the primary target, you're going to be fine."  
  
"All right, Crys," Sam said softly. "Listen, it's later there where you are and it's been an insane kinda day. We should all probably get some rest."  
  
"We'll talk to you soon, Sam?" asked Josh.  
  
"Sounds good. In fact, Crys, I may call you nightly, just to make sure you're okay."  
  
"Okay," she said agreeably. "Also means I get to make sure you're okay."  
  
Sam smiled, and they could hear it in Washington. "Good night, you two. Thanks, Josh."  
  
"Anytime," Josh said before ending the call.  
  
~~~  
  
Leo called for his assistant after settling into his desk and sliding his glasses on to look at the files that had amassed themselves on his desk while he'd been out at dinner.  
  
The willowy redhead soon appeared. "Yes?"  
  
"What's my schedule look like tomorrow?"  
  
"Packed."  
  
"Can you clear an hour for me anywhere?"  
  
"Not unless it's a national emergency and I can easily tell the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs he'll see you in the Situation Room instead of over coffee in this office."  
  
"Yeah, that's not going to work..."  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"Call Donna. Tell her Josh is going to have to sit in for me with the President in a meeting and he's going to have to back-up whatever the President wants."  
  
"Can I tell him what it's about?"  
  
"Josh is a smart guy; he'll figure it out when he gets in there."  
  
"Does he need to prepare for the meeting?"  
  
"'I agree with the President.' Nah, he'll be fine."  
  
She frowned, her forehead creasing.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'll call Donna," she said, ignoring his question.  
  
"You're giving me that look."  
  
"What look?"  
  
"The look that says you're not believing me."  
  
"I just think that, if Josh is going to represent *you* in a meeting, you would want him as prepared as possible."  
  
He sighed, trying to figure out how he could say it without coming right out and saying it. "Tell him it's a Jordan meeting."  
  
"Jordan Kendall?"  
  
"Just tell him it's a Jordan meeting, Margaret. He'll know what that means. And Debbie's setting it up as we speak."  
  
She sighed. "All right." She shook her head, making the note. "Is that all?"  
  
"For now, yeah."  
  
She nodded, and headed out.  
  
~~~  
  
Josh was gathering things to go when there was a knock at his door. "Yeah?"  
  
Donna appeared. "Leo's office just called."  
  
"And?"  
  
"Tomorrow, Leo wants you to sit in a 'Jordan' meeting and back up the President. As soon as the meeting is scheduled, I'm out of here; Debbie's still working out the timing."  
  
"A Jordan meeting?" Josh asked, looking at Crystal, who was looking at him.  
  
"Margaret said you'd know what that meant."  
  
"I do," he said with a slight nod.  
  
"So, I'm going to stick around for Debbie's call, then I'm out of here."  
  
Josh nodded. "I think we're gonna go ahead and go."  
  
"All right," said Donna, glancing at "Rebekah."  
  
In spite of the chilly look she was receiving from Josh's assistant, Crystal smiled brightly. "It was so nice to meet you, Donna," she said with a sugary-sweet voice.  
  
"You, too."  
  
"C'mon," Josh told Crystal softly. She slid off his desk and reached for her coat. He took it from her and held it open for her, allowing her to slide her arms in. Josh pulled on his own coat before grabbing her suitcase and shouldering her bag. He led Crystal out of his office, his hand on the small of her back. "Don't stay too late, huh?" he said as he passed Donna.  
  
She nodded, watching them warily. "Good night."  
  
Stay tuned...  
  
Lines from the next installment:  
  
"How did she survive?"  
  
"Told you this morning... She's somewhat of a legend."  
  
"Legends are usually dead." 


	5. Chapter 5 of 12

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.  
  
Previously, on the West Wing/Alias: Crystal is found outside the building and gets sent home with Josh via the Presidential motorcade. The President wants to sit down with Secret Service and CIA to ensure his California trip stays intact to give Sam's campaign as much support as possible, especially knowing Sam's now the one Jordan and his men are gunning for. Crystal lies to Donna, giving her a fake name and history, to keep the rest of the West Wing from knowing what's going on.  
  
Leo's driver Matt was posted at the nearest exit and opened the back door of the nondescript black sedan as Josh and Crystal stepped out of the West Wing. He took the bags from Josh as he and Crystal slid into their seats. Soon on their way to Georgetown, Crystal fought to keep her eyes open and to stop her periodic yawns to no avail. She started to remove the pins from her hair when they stopped at a red light, dropping the pins into her coat pocket. By the time the light turned green, her dark hair had cascaded around her shoulders.  
  
Josh realized he'd only seen her with her hair pulled back. "Better?" he asked quietly.  
  
"If I could remove my contacts, it'd be perfect."  
  
"We'll be in Georgetown soon."  
  
She nodded, leaning her head back. "I can't believe how exhausted I am," she said quietly.  
  
"Close your eyes."  
  
She smiled. "They are closed."  
  
"I'll wake you when we get there."  
  
She nodded slightly, sighing softly. She didn't sleep in the car--in part because of the contacts, in part because she knew she needed to keep her wits about her until they reached his apartment and were securely inside.  
  
The car pulled up in front of a Georgetown brownstone and all three climbed out. "Thanks, Matt," Josh said, taking the bags from him.  
  
"Of course, Mr. Lyman."  
  
Crystal glanced around quickly, sweeping the street before following Josh up to his apartment. "It's nice," she commented once the door was unlocked and they were inside.  
  
"Thanks." He dropped his bag by the door. "You want a drink or anything?" he asked, taking her bag towards his bedroom.  
  
"No, but do you mind if I look around? It's not snooping; it's survival."  
  
He glanced at her. "Go right ahead."  
  
She methodically checked his apartment, making sure the windows were closed and nothing looked out of place. The last room she checked was the bedroom, where Josh was putting clean sheets on the bed.  
  
"We good?"  
  
She nodded, rifling through her suitcase for her glasses and her contacts case. She was thrilled to remove them and slide her more comfortable glasses on.  
  
"If you need anything in the middle of the night, I'm going to be sacked out on the couch. Get the munchies? Help yourself to whatever's in the kitchen. Just... check the expiration date if you want it to taste good."  
  
She looked up at him. "I appreciate this, Josh."  
  
He finished making the bed and looked at her. "Kinda nice to have a Seaborn in D.C." He removed the dirty sheets from the bedroom but returned to retrieve some pajamas from his chest of drawers while Crystal was in his bathroom changing. By the time she emerged from the bathroom with a clean face and in a soft cottony pajama set with teddy bears on them, Josh was gone. She crawled into his bed, under his covers, sighing softly. Snuggling in and getting comfortable, she was out in a matter of seconds.  
  
Josh, on the other hand, was not sleeping so well on his couch. He'd turned over half a dozen times and found himself almost going face-first into his coffee table. Sighing, he decided it would be best not to kill himself. He turned on his TV quietly and channel surfed.  
  
He found a Bond movie, which entertained him for a moment before realizing he was living in 007's world.  
  
He found a paid advertisement for a set of ginsu knives but didn't want a knife that could cut through a steel can. If his steak knife couldn't cut it, he didn't need to be eating it. The Surgeon General told him he shouldn't eat Tupperware anymore; he figured he could get his iron in vitamins instead of from metal.  
  
He grooved to an ad for an oldies music compilation CD, particularly when he heard the Doobie Brother's song.  
  
He settled on C-Span, however. He was in politics. He was sometimes on C-Span. He found it, particularly after midnight, to be the most boring thing on television.  
  
What surprised him most was when he was still watching the British Parliament have at it an hour later. He'd gotten so engrossed in the proceedings that he forgot he had a houseguest whom he told could have free range of the place. Just as the Prime Minister was getting up to nail home a point, he heard his refrigerator's icemaker spit cubes into a glass and leapt off the couch as if he'd been kicked.  
  
Between his kitchen and the living room was a half-wall, allowing both to see the other. "You okay?" she asked, pouring herself a glass of water.  
  
"I, uh... I forgot you were here," he said lamely.  
  
"Mm." She climbed onto his kitchen countertop.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Mm-hmm."  
  
"You look awfully tired..."  
  
She nodded, sipping her water. "They're arguing an awful much," she commented with a distinct drawl that he'd never heard from her.  
  
"You have an accent?"  
  
"Mm. Got lots."  
  
"Where are you from originally?"  
  
"Virginia."  
  
"Not California?"  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"I see. Bed uncomfortable or... what?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Why are you awake?"  
  
"Every hour."  
  
"I'm not sure I understand..."  
  
"I wake every hour," she said, setting her glass down.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Just to make sure there's no creepy killer sneakin' up on me. That's how I... in Borneo..." She drifted off, covering her face with her hands.  
  
Josh muted the British parliament and crossed to her. "Crystal..."  
  
"Mm?"  
  
"You're safe here..."  
  
"My job sucks sometimes, y'know?"  
  
"Sounds like."  
  
She lowered her hands, resting them on her knees.  
  
"I know you could probably seriously hurt me for saying this, but those are cute pajamas. Teddy bears..."  
  
She smiled a little. "Yeah." Her eyes were downcast, however, and even in the dim light he could see the dark circles beneath them.  
  
"C'mon, Crystal, you're still exhausted and you're not going to be any better off if you don't get some more sleep."  
  
She nodded slightly and slowly slid off the counter. She hadn't judged distance very well and sort of fell into him.  
  
"Easy," he said gently.  
  
"M'sorry," she murmured.  
  
"C'mon, I'll tuck you in."  
  
She nodded but made no moves to walk. He gently tucked her hair behind her ear, noting she leaned into his touch. Scooping her up, he started back for his bedroom. He carefully laid her down in bed, easing his arms out from under her before covering her up.  
  
She opened her sleepy eyes, looking up at him. "Josh..."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You can't sleep on the couch, can you?"  
  
"I, uh..."  
  
"Would it weird you out to share a bed?"  
  
"Would it weird you out?"  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"You sure?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"I... All right." He moved to the other side of the bed and climbed in. He glanced at her once he was comfortable. Her back was to him, the strap of her camisole top off her bare, lightly tanned shoulder. He realized Sam might hurt him if he kept *too* close an eye on Crystal... and he also realized she could be dead the next day. "G'night," he murmured.  
  
"Mmm..."  
  
~~~  
  
Sydney sat cross-legged on the hotel bed, listening to Marshall Flinkman go through his usual nervous spiel about information while Vaughn closed a file folder, laying down beside her. "But, we're still in the dark on when or where or how they're showing up?"  
  
"I'll be checking for updates in the passenger manifests every hour and running the names again."  
  
"Are you going to sleep at all?" Sydney asked with a soft smile.  
  
"Oh, no, it's not going to be me all night. Another tech should be coming in soon so I can tell him what to do. Can you imagine me on caffeine and no sleep? I'd totally be buzzed and running around like: aah! Security? You want me to put new gadgets together to look cool? I can only if you bring me more coffee!"  
  
Sydney laughed. He seemed to say all of that with one breath. "Well, put us on the list to be notified as soon as you find him."  
  
"Oh, will do, absolutely will do."  
  
"Thanks, Marshall."  
  
"No problem."  
  
After a quick goodbye, Sydney hung up and stretched out beside Vaughn.  
  
"Still no news?" he asked.  
  
Sydney shook her head.  
  
"You still want to call Crystal, don't you?"  
  
"She deserves to know she's not the primary target. Well, that she is, but her cousin will be hit first."  
  
"How do we know Jordan's double didn't just say they were going to California to trip us up? They're actually staying here. They wanted her to think she's safe so she'd get careless, or worse, obvious, drawing attention to herself and so they take care of her, and then go to California for Sam. Maybe they've heard about the President's trip this weekend and will take care of two targets for the price of one."  
  
"So, when they got in the cab, they were going to Jordan's hideout instead of an airport or train station?" asked Sydney.  
  
"Could be."  
  
"This is making my head spin," she said, putting a hand on either side of her head.  
  
"We should get some sleep..."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Vaughn stood, pulling the covers back on the hotel bed. Sydney crawled under them while Vaughn turned off the lights before returning to the bed and pulling the covers up. He pulled Sydney close, smiling as she put her head on his chest.  
  
Her eyes, however, were wide open. "Her report from Borneo... and with all those pictures..."  
  
"Syd..."  
  
"I've been subjected to rough stuff, but... She survived a bloodbath, Vaughn. Those other agents were... they were executed. Their bodies were decimated... It was brutal and gruesome and that's gotta leave a major imprint on the psyche, something that'll affect you for all times, that you carry with you... She says she walked out of there covered in blood and..."  
  
"You need to let go of this for a while."  
  
"How did she survive?"  
  
"Told you this morning... She's somewhat of a legend."  
  
"Legends are usually dead."  
  
"Sydney, please."  
  
"I'm just... She's been with the CIA since she was seventeen."  
  
"Yup."  
  
"She started when my father was about to leave with Sloane."  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"She could've met my father. She could've met Sloane."  
  
"Sydney--"  
  
"Maybe she knows something about Sloane that we don't--"  
  
"Syd... you need to slow down it down. You've been so focused on taking down Sloane, SD-6 and the Alliance altogether for so long that you're still focused on that. This case is not connected to anything else we've worked on. It has nothing to do with Rambaldi or K-Directorate. This is about a ruthless assassin who has his sights set on Agent Seaborn."  
  
She nodded slowly.  
  
"C'mon... Let's sleep."  
  
It took a while, but finally, listening to his even breathing, and feeling his hand gently stroke her hair, she fell into a light sleep in his arms.  
  
~~~  
  
Josh woke before his alarm went off and was very aware of how warm he was. Blinking, he focused on the alarm clock. It'd be another half hour before it would alert him that he needed to get out of bed. Then he realized what the warmth was, and that it was moving. He watched as Crystal snuggled closer towards him. Guessing it might be a good idea to wake her up a little early, he'd offer her the first shower.  
  
"Crystal..."  
  
"Mm?"  
  
"You want to get up?"  
  
Her green eyes opened and she blinked, trying to focus on him.  
  
"It's 5:30 if you want to run get a shower..."  
  
"It's..." She sat up, grabbing her glasses. "It can't be 5:30."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I don't remember getting up last night except the one time."  
  
"I don't think you did."  
  
She leapt out of bed and made a quick run through his apartment, glancing cautiously out windows and looking for anything out of the ordinary. His TV was still on C-Span and muted. Everything else seemed to be in place. She headed back to his bedroom with her glasses off and rubbing the bridge of her nose.  
  
"We good?"  
  
"I guess so."  
  
"Shower?"  
  
"Yes, thanks."  
  
"Sure." When she started to pass him, he reached out to stop her, his hand on her arm gently. "It's okay. You survived the night without waking up every hour."  
  
"Greg Grayson and Karen Daniels didn't," she said quietly.  
  
"Crystal..."  
  
"I should get a shower."  
  
He let her go, heading into his kitchen to make coffee when his phone rang. Puzzled over who would call so early, he grabbed the phone quickly. "Hello?"  
  
"Josh, it's Leo."  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Is she with you right now?"  
  
"Crystal? She's in the shower."  
  
"All right, listen... The meeting you're going to have with the President today."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You're going to have to back him up. Put your foot down and say what the President says goes."  
  
"What is this meeting?" Josh asked, returning to his coffee maker. "I can say that, no problem, I just want to know what I'm saying it about."  
  
"There's some concern over the President's trip to California."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because of Jordan."  
  
"But if she's still--" He stopped dead. "Leo..."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Is she still the target?"  
  
"You can't tell her this."  
  
"That's why Director Conrad let her leave last night..." he said, putting the puzzle pieces together.  
  
"Josh, she can't know."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because Rob Conrad has made that call."  
  
"We can't overrule that decision?"  
  
"We don't want either Seaborn knowing. Ignorance, in this case, is bliss..."  
  
"No, it's not, Leo."  
  
"It is this time."  
  
"No. It's not. Leo, she's been freaking out about security, about if somebody's going to come in and grab her. If she knows they're not gunning for her right now--"  
  
"They're gunning for Sam. Conrad says Crystal is quite protective when it comes to her family. I tend to doubt telling her will really help the situation."  
  
"All right," he said with a heavy sigh.  
  
"You can do this."  
  
"I can drive us in, then?"  
  
"I'm sending my car again. If you want to take it, that's fine. You'll be dropped off first and he'll continue on to Langley for her."  
  
"That means... Riding to the White House without talking about... Yeah, I'll drive myself in."  
  
"I'll see you when you get in."  
  
Josh sighed slightly. "Yeah," he said before ending the call and finishing making the coffee. He'd poured himself the first cup when he heard the water stop running. He figured he'd go ahead and make breakfast while she dressed, watching his bagel slide down into his toaster. He just wouldn't bring it up. He wouldn't say word one about the whole Jordan issue until he was in his own car to the White House. Whereupon he would curse the day Conrad was made Director and Leo decided telling him not to tell Crystal was a good idea.  
  
As he was slathering his toasted bagel with cream cheese, Crystal emerged from his bedroom in a pair of dark slacks and a deep red sweater. Her dark hair was clipped at the base of her neck with a silver barrette and her makeup was done to perfection, hiding the dark circles she still had under her eyes. "Shower's yours," she said, draping her jacket across the back of a chair.  
  
"Great, thanks."  
  
"So, what's the plan for this morning?" she asked, pulling another bagel out of the package to toast.  
  
"Leo's sending his car again to take you to Langley. I'm going to take my own car to the White House."  
  
She nodded, pushing the lever down on his toaster. "All right."  
  
"I'm going to go shower."  
  
"Can I borrow your phone?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah, sure."  
  
She smiled. "Thanks." As he started for his bathroom, Crystal picked up the phone and dialed. After two rings, an automated answer greeted her.  
  
"If you know your party's extension, please enter it now."  
  
Crystal spoke: "Extension one-oh-three-nine alpha."  
  
"Pass code?" queried the automated machine.  
  
"Crystal Anne Seaborn, senior field operations special agent."  
  
There was a series of beeps before the voice returned: "Identity confirmed. Please hold while your call is transferred to one-oh-three-nine alpha." The rings returned, and her bagel popped up. She removed her breakfast from the toaster and started spreading some cream cheese on hers as well when she heard a familiar voice.  
  
"Conrad."  
  
"It's Crystal."  
  
"Crys. Good morning."  
  
"Good morning, sir. Has there been any news since last night?"  
  
"Nothing yet."  
  
"Am I going to have to spend the night at the Farm tonight?" she asked, putting the lid back on the cream cheese. "I mean, was last night a one-shot deal?"  
  
"Unless something changes and so long as your welcome doesn't wear out with Josh, as far as I'm concerned, you're welcome to stay."  
  
"All right," she said, lifting her coffee for a sip.  
  
"With an hour's worth of prep, could you give a history of the Red Crescent Order and one for Victor Jordan to a group at the Farm?"  
  
"Even without the prep hour, yeah."  
  
"We're pulling more agents onto the case and I want everybody to have the base knowledge. Part of the agents you'll be speaking to will be via a telecast to L.A."  
  
"All right."  
  
"We'll get you a techie; you can put together some visuals."  
  
"That's what I'll spend my hour doing." She smiled.  
  
"Sounds good. Listen, I've got to get ready for my own presentation."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Talk to you later," Conrad said before ending the call.  
  
Crystal sat on the countertop, eating her bagel and listening to the water run in Josh's shower. She thought about all she knew about Jordan, his patterns, his strategies. She tried to figure out where he might be hiding. She started to wonder if Sydney had the right idea the previous morning. Instead of waiting for him to find her, she could draw him out, become obvious. She'd sit down with Sydney and Vaughn at work and discuss pros and cons over such a plan.  
  
She'd finished her bagel and the shower had stopped when she heard a knock at the door. She slid off the countertop and crossed to the door to investigate. "Yes?" she called through it.  
  
"Ms. Seaborn, it's Matt Addison, Leo McGarry's driver."  
  
"Just a minute."  
  
"I'll wait by the car."  
  
"Thanks," she said, heading back towards Josh's bedroom. She knocked.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"That's my ride; I'll see you tonight?"  
  
"Yeah, hey wait..." He opened the door, in slacks and an undershirt. "Here's my card... Tell Donna you're... Rebekah and I'll make sure she'll give you my cell if you need anything and I'm not there."  
  
She nodded. "See you later."  
  
Stay tuned...  
  
Lines from the next installment:  
  
"Well, here's the thing," said Bartlet. "I'm going to California this weekend. There's no maybe about it. Ron, if you have concerns about that, you need to work out security with the CIA."  
  
"Sir, matters of your security aren't negotiable," said Butterfield. 


	6. Chapter 6 of 12

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.  
  
Previously, on the West Wing/Alias: Crystal spends the night at Josh's and sleeps most of the night, something quite rare for her. Sydney tries to connect Jordan to Sloane while Vaughn tries to assure her there's no connection to be made. Josh is let in on the fact that Sam's the new target and is told to keep it from Crystal, which he doesn't like.  
  
Sam arrived at the campaign headquarters early and bearing Starbucks coffee for the pair of CIA agents and himself. Entering the building, he headed back for his office, surprised to hear voices coming from it. He stopped just outside the door to listen to what was going on inside.  
  
"Just where the hell do you get off?"  
  
Sam recognized the voice of Scott Holcomb. A very angry Scott Holcomb.  
  
"It's a matter of intelligence, Mr. Holcomb. California doesn't exactly have a clean record of keeping candidates alive to see election."  
  
And that was Jack Bristow. Sam realized this... was not going to be good.  
  
"Lightning doesn't strike twice, not in one Congressional district in a matter of five months."  
  
"One dies of natural causes, the other gets assassinated. That's not exactly the same lightning strike."  
  
"It's not exactly plausible either!"  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"Ten years of campaign experience tells me that candidates don't get killed. Not on a Congressional level."  
  
"Local candidates get killed. Presidential candidates get killed."  
  
"Congressional candidates don't."  
  
"Do you really want to have those words come back to bite you in the ass?"  
  
"Do you really want me to revoke your campaign credentials?"  
  
"Don't threaten me, Mr. Holcomb."  
  
"Don't tell me how to run my campaign, Mr. Bristow."  
  
"You're going to get someone hurt by being this open."  
  
"He's running for Congress; he has to be accessible!"  
  
"Not after hours. Not in fundraisers or at parties or at home."  
  
Sam reached for the door handle and opened it. "How 'bout this novel idea?" Sam said, entering. "How 'bout you guys listen to me?"  
  
"Sam..." Scott said, standing up.  
  
"Good morning, Scott. Good morning, Jack."  
  
"How much of this have you heard...?" asked Scott.  
  
"Quite enough, thank you. You're going to let Jack have his way. If that means we're closing off some avenues of information, we're doing it. You're not pulling his credentials. You're not getting him removed from my campaign. If you don't like it, tough. That's the way it's going to be."  
  
"Sam, I don't think this is a good idea--" began his campaign manager.  
  
"You don't get it. This isn't your call to make. Gather the staff for a meeting; I'll address them in regards to the required changes."  
  
Scott glanced at Jack, whose face was emotionless. Sighing heavily, he exited the office quickly, storming down the hall.  
  
Sam reached out, closing the door behind him. "Starbucks?"  
  
"Thank you," Jack said as Sam handed him a coffee.  
  
"Fun morning."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Where's your cohort in crime?"  
  
"Weiss?"  
  
Sam nodded.  
  
"He's at the headquarters right now."  
  
"Something wrong?"  
  
Jack shook his head. "He's scheduled to see another briefing shortly."  
  
~~~  
  
Weiss knocked on Marshall's door. There was no answer but he could see the lights were on through the frosted glass door. He could even see Marshall standing inside. Frowning, he opened the door. "Marshall?"  
  
"Six men... staggered flights... names through an algorithmic process... all say Victor Jordan..."  
  
"Marshall!" repeated Weiss.  
  
The short technician almost fell over his chair. "Oh, oh... Agent Weiss."  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"I think..." He stood. "I think this is it." He hit a button on his computer and a printer came to life. "I ran all the names on all the passenger manifests like you asked. I put them through all sorts of decoders. Five and six layer ciphers, anything and everything I could think of and I hit it. Just now, I got it. There are six flights coming to LAX. The first is set to land in two hours," he said, grabbing the first page of the print out. "All the aliases, when run through the cipher, came up as 'Victor Jordan.' Each person will land an hour apart from each other. They're flying in from DCA, BWI, and Dulles as well as from Richmond, Norfolk, and Newport News. All of the flights took off after the surveillance team in D.C. picked up that they were leaving for California. Richmond, Norfolk and Newport News are kinda far from D.C., but their flights left later, giving them plenty of time to have taken a small charter from one of the D.C. area airports to the other state airports or they could've even driven down, given the mileage and the speed of cars, and nobody's on interstates really late at night, and they would've been driving pretty late and had really weird-timed flights anyway."  
  
"Two hours before the first one lands?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
"Thanks, Marshall; can I have the print out?"  
  
"Oh, sure, sure. I've still got the information on the computer."  
  
Weiss nodded, and grabbed the papers from the printer before dashing out. Marshall smiled--proud of himself, but then remembered he told Sydney he'd contact her with the information. He sat back down at his computer and e-mailed a copy of the decoded names and the flight information to her before beeping her with a text message to check her e-mail. He also forwarded the information to Director Conrad.  
  
~~~  
  
Josh looked pale as he waited in his office for the meeting with the President, Ron Butterfield, and Rob Conrad. He returned the phone calls from the night before but only halfheartedly listening and responding. His best friend was the target of an international assassin. Having been shot at a political outing, he kept picturing Sam being shot while moving from one campaign stop to another. He was getting rather ill.  
  
Donna poked her head in between calls. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Are you all right?" she repeated.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine."  
  
"You look kinda... I dunno. Did you sleep okay last night or did your childhood friend keep you up till all hours?"  
  
"We slept. She hasn't called, has she? Rebekah?"  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"Let me know if she does."  
  
"Sure."  
  
"What time's my meeting with the President?"  
  
"Fifteen more minutes."  
  
He exhaled. "If she calls when I'm in there, have her page me and give her the number."  
  
"You're going to take pages when you're in the Oval Office?"  
  
"I'll have it on vibrate; it's fine."  
  
"Josh..."  
  
"Just do it; it might be important."  
  
"She's a staffer for a Congressman."  
  
"And she's privy to all sorts of information that I may need."  
  
"You're not making much sense."  
  
"Don't question me on this, okay?"  
  
She frowned. "Okay."  
  
"It just... It might be really important."  
  
"I said okay, Josh."  
  
"I'm going on to the meeting," he said, standing up and pulling his suit coat on.  
  
He meandered towards the Oval Office, looking decidedly distracted. Will Bailey and Toby Ziegler were in the Roosevelt Room and watched through the glass doors as he vacantly made his way around the room, towards the Oval, then turn around and head back, with a more determined look on his face, to Margaret's office. The two Communications senior staffers glanced at each other then returned to their meeting with economic advisors.  
  
"Margaret... Does Leo have any free time today?"  
  
She looked up at him. "He may have two seconds between this meeting and the next, but I really can't guarantee it."  
  
He sighed.  
  
"Is there something wrong?"  
  
"No... Not really. What time is his schedule through?"  
  
"Unless nothing runs long," she said, giving him a knowing look, "eight-thirty."  
  
"So I should come by around ten if I want to talk to him in person."  
  
She nodded. "If a meeting cancels on him, I'll call you."  
  
"Thanks," he said, heading back towards the Oval. Ron Butterfield was already lingering at Debbie's desk. "Good morning, Ron."  
  
"Josh," he responded with a nod.  
  
"The President's in another meeting, Debbie?" Josh asked, looking at her.  
  
She nodded. "Should be done shortly. In fact, Charlie's in there trying to rope Ambassador Marbury out of there as we speak."  
  
"That'll take a while," muttered Josh. He exhaled. "Any clue what's keeping our fourth?"  
  
"Director Conrad?"  
  
Josh nodded.  
  
"He's running a little late. His assistant called, said he was getting new information off the wire before coming out here."  
  
"New information?"  
  
Debbie nodded.  
  
"What kind of new information?"  
  
"She didn't say; I'm sure the Director wasn't at liberty to."  
  
Josh nodded and turned from her desk for a moment, pacing slightly in the small office, before returning his attention to her. "Any clue if it was good information or bad information?"  
  
"I couldn't discern it from her tone of voice, no."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"Quite positive."  
  
He sighed. "All right."  
  
"You seem awfully tense," she commented, turning her attention to her computer.  
  
"You're like the twelfth person to ask if I'm all right today. I'm fine."  
  
"I didn't ask if you were all right; I was simply making an observation."  
  
"Observations do not need to be made about me today."  
  
"It's understandable to be nervous about this," Butterfield said. "With what happened at Rosslyn and what could happen in Orange County."  
  
Josh looked up at him. Before he could form a response, Rob Conrad entered.  
  
"Guess I'm not late yet," he said, holding a leather folder with the CIA seal emblazoned on it.  
  
"Not yet, Director Conrad," Debbie said.  
  
The door to the Oval was opened, and Charlie led the British Ambassador out of the office. "The President will see you three now," Charlie announced.  
  
Josh exhaled, and followed the CIA Director and the head agent of the President's Secret Service team into the Oval Office.  
  
"Good morning," said the President, standing behind his desk. The three returned the greeting and Bartlet gestured towards the couches. "Have a seat, please." He grabbed a file folder off his desk and headed over, sitting down in one of the wingback chairs. Only after the President sat did Ron Butterfield and Rob Conrad take seats, on opposite couches. Josh stood behind the President. His job was to back the President up and he would.  
  
"Mr. President, if I may speak first," Conrad said.  
  
"All right," Bartlet said with a nod.  
  
He opened the leather folder and handed him a copy of a report, which Bartlet started flipping through once he put his glasses on. "As you can see, Mr. President," he said, handing another copy to Butterfield and one to Josh, "we have flight information with Jordan and his men on flights to L.A. They are currently in the air, with the first to land in a little over an hour. We're mobilizing the L.A. office to LAX in order to apprehend the first man off the plane. Starting in the next," he glanced at his watch, "ten minutes, the L.A. office will be getting a briefing on Victor Jordan, his deeds, his history, as well as on his organization, Red Crescent Order, to better prepare them for taking down Jordan and his men once they're off the plane."  
  
"So, theoretically, this is going to be over in the next eight hours," Bartlet said, skimming the report.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"So, there should be no problem with this weekend's trip to California?"  
  
"None, sir. I called Tom Connolly," he said, referring to the FBI director, "and he's cleared us to take down the men as they arrive as well as offered us assistance."  
  
"Ron, do you have any concerns or questions?" asked Bartlet, removing his glasses and looking at his head Secret Service agent.  
  
"Are you certain these aliases are correct?" Butterfield asked, looking at Conrad.  
  
"There's a high probability they're correct," admitted Conrad.  
  
"How high?" Butterfield continued, taking the question Josh had just formed in his head.  
  
"Probably eighty percent."  
  
"And if these aliases turn out to be wrong?" asked Butterfield.  
  
"Then we've got some days to figure out what we're doing next."  
  
"Well, here's the thing," said Bartlet. "I'm going to California this weekend. There's no maybe about it. Ron, if you have concerns about that, you need to work out security with the CIA."  
  
"Sir, matters of your security aren't negotiable," said Butterfield.  
  
"Matters of politics are," said Josh, speaking up for the first time since entering the Oval. "It's a political move. The President is going to California to help a Democratic candidate run for office. If he backs out, then Sam loses. Game over. We're not going to let that happen and you're not going to stop us."  
  
"Due respect, Mr. President, security outweighs political gain," Butterfield rebutted.  
  
"Agent Butterfield, we're going," Josh said, putting his foot down.  
  
"Mr. President, you have to understand the ramifications of this. I was discussing it with Josh before the meeting. If you thought Rosslyn was bad, this is going to be worse. There's going to be a definite threat from a highly trained assassin, not skinhead kids who fired off some potshots."  
  
"So, we bite the bullet and use tents in California since we didn't at Rosslyn," Josh continued.  
  
"You can't play a shell game against an assassin, not one as smart and as ruthless as Jordan," Conrad said.  
  
"Crystal survived," said Josh.  
  
"And that's a rare thing. In his tenure as chief killer, he's left six alive. Five were killed once he discovered it. Crystal's gonna be next," said Conrad. "As much as I don't want that to happen, this guy is determined. He's going to pull off a political assassination to get a victim who lived--who barely lived. You've seen the pictures, Josh. It was bloody and brutal and he could go through the entire Presidential entourage in California. Unless we catch him, which, our chances are good that we will. A large portion of CIA resources are aimed at this guy right now. He's threatened one of our own and we don't take kindly to that, especially when it also involves the family of our agent and our boss. You just gotta give us time. You may have to postpone the visit."  
  
"We can't," said Bartlet, shaking his head. "This has been planned for far too long."  
  
"Which could be part of the reason Jordan changed plans," said Butterfield. "He's going to California to pull Crystal into the open by killing her cousin and, who knows, if the President's right there, too, and he has an extra bullet, it could be done. With all due respect, Mr. President, you have to reconsider this."  
  
"We've considered it," said Josh.  
  
"I wasn't talking to you," Butterfield said, shooting a sharp look his way.  
  
"We understand the ramifications. We get that this is dangerous. We get that this could be deadly. Of all people, you don't have to tell the President or I how dangerous guns are. But you have to understand that we're willing to chance it. Your job just got tougher, Agent Butterfield, and I apologize for that, but you're gonna have to deal with it."  
  
"Mr. President," began Butterfield.  
  
"We're going, Ron," Bartlet said. "I suggest you talk with Rob here about the potential for success of catching these men. And I suggest you two do it elsewhere."  
  
Butterfield and Conrad jumped to their feet when the President stood. Muttering their thanks, the two headed out.  
  
Josh watched them leave and the door close before looking at Bartlet. "Sir..."  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Why can't I tell her that they're about to catch them?"  
  
"It's Rob's decision."  
  
"We just overruled both Conrad and Butterfield."  
  
"It's an internal matter, Josh."  
  
"Yes, sir," Josh said, fighting a sigh as well as a rebuttal.  
  
"Thanks for backing me up."  
  
"Thank you, sir," he said, taking his copy of the report from Conrad and slipping out of the Oval.  
  
~~~  
  
Crystal stood at the front of the main conference room, where Rob Conrad had given the briefing the day before, and lectured about Victor Jordan, his ties to the Red Crescent Order, as well as his only family--his father, a European media mogul. She gave a thorough history, imparting all the knowledge she had about the organization and Jordan to the fresh-faced agents sitting before her, and to those she could see only via teleconference from Los Angeles.  
  
Among those in L.A. were Marshall and Weiss. Weiss made notes occasionally while Marshall watched with rapt attention.  
  
"Jordan rose to power in the Red Crescent Order ten years ago. Before that, he had been one of his father's right hand men, organizing ruthless corporate takeovers." Crystal regaled the agents with stories about kidnapping CEOs and CFOs families in order to get the deeds and titles to the companies. As with a seeming majority of kidnapping cases, the victims were never returned to their families alive. Jordan enjoyed watching the gamut of emotions play across the faces of the corporate executives before offering to let them join their families in the afterworld. Nothing stood in his way; he had no problems plowing through people to get the acquisitions his father wanted.  
  
"It became too commonplace; he wanted a challenge," she continued. "He left his father's corporation and took up with various terrorist groups, starting in the Irish Republican Army before moving onto the more aggressive, more covert Red Crescent Order. They're not wave-makers. They prefer to jump in and take over operations from other groups. Perhaps he finds it comforting and familiar from his days in corporate takeovers. Because the organization is never fully put to use at any one time, Jordan easily got permission to take off for this jaunt into assassination with his team of merry men.  
  
"I've heard this question tossed around quite a bit this morning: why target the escaped victim first? Why not kill the family first? His victims are usually highly trained in specialized operations, like me. Like Mossad agents. Like MI-6 agents. You start messing with family of intelligence officers, you turn them into renegades, rogue agents who throw the rulebook out the window and decide to take care of the matter themselves. They become irrational. You can't deal with irrational people, and he knows that.  
  
"Jordan also knows the advantages and disadvantages of family ties. Charles Renard provides a healthy amount of funding to the Red Crescent Order. He knows he needs his father protected, not out of a sense of family ties, but out of an economic savvy. He loses his father; he loses his key investor."  
  
Crystal closed the notebook in front of her, not that she'd been looking at her notes at all during her presentation. "Are there any questions?"  
  
Weiss spoke up. "Would he hurt the family member to get at the victim? Without killing the family member, just threatening him?"  
  
"It's not in his pattern."  
  
"Was it his pattern to be a terrorist when he was a corporate employee? I mean, would he change his pattern, for the thrill or because he's figured out that you, Agent Seaborn, are underground so as to keep his attention on you and not your cousin?"  
  
She shrugged slightly. "Anything's possible."  
  
Another agent in L.A. spoke up: "Do they travel in disguise?"  
  
"Not typically. Heavily armed, yes, but he's not into covert traveling. If he gets caught, he gets caught. He's never *been* caught, however. Like the local and state law enforcement here, smaller police organizations overseas don't want to touch him. They refuse to apprehend him because he's such a violent, murderous man. Having been at ground zero of one of his attacks, I can't really say that I blame them." She waited for a moment, but there seemed to be no more questions. "Anything else?" When she was given no response, she picked up her notebook. "All right. If you have any more questions that you think of later, you can reach me at my extension, twenty-three hundred, or e-mail to cseaborn@odci.gov and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks."  
  
The lights in the conference room came up to full power and Crystal headed out, her heels clicking on the tile floor as she started for her office. Her assistant, Melissa sat at her desk just outside of her office. "Mail came through."  
  
She nodded. "Can I get a bottle of water by any chance?"  
  
"Sure thing."  
  
Crystal entered her small office and closed the door behind her. She had a sparsely decorated office. There was a filing cabinet with a small television on top against one wall, and a government-issue metal desk from an earlier decade in the center of the room. The office had one window but it seemed all but useless as it faced a brick wall. Sighing slightly, she dropped into her desk chair and turned on her laptop. An envelope had been dropped on her desk--her mail. All in all, the office had one personal item. It was a framed three-and-a-half-by-five picture of a young Crystal in a Princeton sweatshirt with a young Sam in a graduation robe and mortarboard. It was taken the day of Sam's commencement from the university on her sweatshirt.  
  
She picked up the envelope. The return address appeared to be from a local legal firm. She didn't wonder that much about it. Her father had been a prominent criminal attorney in the metro D.C. area for decades. It could have something to do with a former partner in her father's firm or even something to deal with Sam's campaign and legal questions regarding it.  
  
Opening the envelope, she pulled out the tri-fold letter and opened it. It was not a letterhead. It wasn't even a letter; there was no writing on it but rather a symbol. A red crescent. More than that, a white powdery substance had been folded inside the paper.  
  
Without hesitating, she picked up her phone and dialed Conrad's direct extension.  
  
"Conrad," he answered.  
  
"Shut off G-Wing and get a Haz-Mat team to my office stat. Evacuate non-essentials."  
  
"Crys--"  
  
"I've got a letter with possible anthrax from Red Crescent."  
  
"That doesn't fit the pattern--"  
  
"Screw the pattern, Robby! Shut down G-Wing, stop the ventilation system through here, send me a goddamned Haz-Mat team and evacuate the non- essentials!"  
  
"Stay on this line, Crys."  
  
She hoped Melissa was still en route to the cafeteria to get her that water. Glancing over, her laptop had come on and it was querying her for her password. After hearing the air system turn off, she balanced the phone on her shoulder and typed in her password before pulling up her e- mail program. She typed Sam's e-mail address into the to field, bypassed the subject, and jumped right into the body message. With one quick sentence entered, she hit send right before the Haz-Mat team entered.  
  
"Robby, if you're taping this, I have to go now. There better be one hell of a good team in L.A. with Sam."  
  
~~~  
  
In Los Angeles, Weiss frowned and looked at Marshall after the satellite briefing. "If Jordan never changes to kill the family first... why is he coming here?"  
  
Marshall shrugged. "I don't know."  
  
FBI Assistant Director Kendall, a CIA liaison to the L.A. office, entered the room. "Agent Weiss. You're needed at LAX with the strike teams."  
  
Weiss stood. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, following him out.  
  
Stay tuned...  
  
Lines from the next installment:  
  
Josh entered first, with Toby on his heels. "Leo?"  
  
"There've been some developments," the Chief of Staff said gravely.  
  
"What kind of developments?" asked Toby. 


	7. Chapter 7 of 12

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.  
  
Previously, on the West Wing/Alias: Sam intervenes on the CIA's behalf and gets his campaign manager to agree to stiffer restrictions on information. Marshall figures out when Jordan and his men are flying into LAX, though Conrad admits in his meeting with the President that there's a twenty percent possibility the information is wrong. Josh puts his foot down for Bartlet and tells the Secret Service to deal with the security risks of California while Crystal gives a more detailed briefing on Jordan's history. Afterwards, Crystal gets a surprise from Red Crescent and Weiss is called to LAX.  
  
Sam cruised into his office. He'd given the new security order at the staff meeting and had another hour before the first campaign stop of the day. Jack followed him in, closing the door. "Yeah?" asked Sam as he took a seat at his desk.  
  
"Commendable meeting."  
  
"Thanks." Sam smiled slightly and opened his e-mail inbox.  
  
"Do you think they'll adhere to it?"  
  
"I think so. Unless Scott decides he can try to usurp my authority. I mean... On the one hand, it's great he's here. On the other... he's an employed campaign manager in the off-season. This is really rough, getting more paychecks."  
  
Jack nodded, the noted Sam was frowning slightly. "Sam?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Everything okay?"  
  
"Just got a strange e-mail."  
  
"From who?" asked Jack, crossing to Sam's desk quickly.  
  
"My cousin."  
  
Jack leaned over, to read the message: Just remember I love you and Im gonna fight ~C"  
  
"No punctuation. She knows that bugs me."  
  
Jack checked his watch. The first plane was scheduled to touch down in fifteen minutes. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Weiss's cell quickly.  
  
"Agent Bristow?"  
  
He held up his hand to silence him. The phone immediately forwarded him to voice mail. "Something's wrong in D.C. Call me immediately when you get this." He ended the call and started to dial another.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"I don't know yet."  
  
"Is she okay?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
~~~  
  
Vaughn and Sydney milled near Helen's desk outside Conrad's office. They were supposed to watch and listen to what was going down at LAX with the Director. Vaughn checked his watch. It was almost time.  
  
Helen spoke up. "You two want a mint? They calm your nerves. Proven fact."  
  
Sydney smiled. "Thanks," she said, taking a wrapped peppermint from her candy dish. "Any clue why there's a hold up?"  
  
"I'm afraid I don't." She stood a moment later, however, when Conrad exited the office, looking terribly old. "Sir?"  
  
"We've been breached."  
  
"Sir?" she repeated.  
  
"Send an e-mail to agent classes yellow and green," he said, watching as Helen sat back down to take notes. "They're not to report back until further notice. Confidentiality stands. Upon their return, we'll give them a full briefing as to what happened. All of G-Wing is to be kept sealed until further notice. If an agent needs something, it's to be documented and we'll see what we can do with our Haz-Mat unit."  
  
Vaughn and Sydney exchanged worried glances.  
  
"All mail delivery stops. Inform agent classes red and blue that correspondence is to be done electronically, over phone lines. As of now, we're under beta operations."  
  
"Beta operations?" repeated Sydney.  
  
Conrad looked at her. "Heightened alert status. Non-critical ops are quashed. Cadets go home, training stops temporarily. Any agent in an op who thinks they've been compromised, even in the slightest, pulls an emergency exit."  
  
"How were we breached...?" she asked further.  
  
"Red Crescent Order managed to get a letter to Crystal with a potentially deadly substance inside," he explained.  
  
"It passed our mail screeners?" asked Helen, alarmed.  
  
Conrad nodded.  
  
"But, it doesn't fit the profile..." said Vaughn.  
  
"I talked with Crystal over the phone. It's intimidation. The powder is real or it isn't; either way it shows that they can touch her where she is... It's entirely possible that it's anthrax or something else equally deadly because we do have contingency plans for things like this. Haz-Mat got to her within two minutes of her opening the letter. Our infirmary is trained to deal with cases of this as well. She's going to be fine, she's on medication and is resting, as much as she hates that."  
  
"When will we know what was sent?" asked Helen.  
  
"It's priority one at the lab right now, so, within the hour we'll know if it's tested positive for anthrax," said Conrad, sighing.  
  
Vaughn spoke up. "Sir...?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"The first plane touched down two minutes ago," Vaughn said.  
  
"Jesus," muttered Conrad. "C'mon," he said, leading them into his office. "Helen, am I live?" he called through his open door.  
  
"Yes, sir," she answered.  
  
Conrad clicked a few keys on his computer keyboard, the video feed was transferred to a screen behind his desk, and the audio was coming through his speakers, which he turned to face Sydney and Vaughn before joining them to watch the takedown.  
  
There was silence for a moment before an agent spoke: "Passengers disembarking now."  
  
Conrad leaned against one of the leather chairs in front of his desk to watch the people file by. There were couples and children with parents and business travelers. Some were laughing. Some looked jetlagged. "C'mon," muttered the Director, his eyes scanning each face.  
  
An agent was making an approximate count of how many people were coming off of the plane. "Two thirds to go," he said quietly. Several more faces passed. "Half."  
  
"Get ready," stated another agent.  
  
"One third..."  
  
"Where is he?" asked Vaughn.  
  
Conrad sighed. "He's not on the plane," he said, shaking his head and turning his back to the footage.  
  
"That's it," said the agent who'd been counting the passengers. "No go. Repeat, no go. Abort."  
  
Conrad rubbed his forehead. "Helen..." She appeared at the door, which he sensed, rather than looked up to confirm that fact. "I need a meeting with Ron Butterfield. And the President is going to have to be briefed." He looked up at Sydney and Vaughn. "I suggest one of you calls the detail with Sam and tell them that we've been breached and I have no fucking clue where Jordan is."  
  
~~~  
  
Sam made his stump speech in front of the Elks Club. He was torn, however, worried sick about his cousin and Jack Bristow's lack of knowledge about what was going on. He put up a tremendous front, with the practiced toothpaste campaign smile and parade wave. It had been well over an hour since her cryptic e-mail and he was starting to fear the worst.  
  
Speeding through the conclusion, he thanked the crowd and walked off stage, to where Jack stood, in a hushed huddle with Weiss, whom Sam hadn't seen all day.  
  
"There was nothing?" asked Jack.  
  
"Nothing," repeated Weiss. "Marshall's looking over the data again, but there's no telling what's really going on. Sydney said Conrad was defeatist. I mean... if you think about it, bad intel this morning, her letter..."  
  
"Guys?" asked Sam.  
  
Weiss stopped immediately.  
  
"Sam..." Jack began.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"Let's get you back to the headquarters. Now," said Jack.  
  
Sam glanced from Jack to Weiss, whose gaze was focused on the ground at his toes. "You better tell me what the hell's going on once we get to the headquarters," Sam said, leading the charge out to the campaign cars. Once outside, he started to get into Scott's car when he stopped, and walked back, getting in with Jack and Weiss. "Better yet, tell me now," he said, sliding into the back seat.  
  
Weiss and Jack exchanged glances over the hood of the car, and then climbed in as well, with Weiss behind the wheel. Jack sat sideways, so he could see Sam. "This morning, the main office was breached."  
  
"Breached?" asked Sam, his face draining of all color.  
  
"She's fine. There was a potential biological weapons scare, but she's fine."  
  
"Bio... biological weapons? How?"  
  
"She received a letter this morning from what appeared to be a legal firm; it was from Jordan."  
  
"Oh, my God," murmured Sam.  
  
"She was treated for potential anthrax exposure but she's fine; it was baking powder. She sent the e-mail while waiting for Haz-Mat to arrive, hence the hurried typing and lack of punctuation. She's fine, Sam," Jack said, noting that Sam's coloring had yet to return. "Operations at Langley have returned to normal."  
  
He nodded slowly. "What about... what was the other thing you were talking about, Agent Weiss? Where there was nothing?"  
  
Weiss glanced at him in the rearview mirror while Jack answered. "It was nothing."  
  
"Agent Bristow, please. I have to know."  
  
"Actually, Mr. Seaborn, you don't."  
  
"Jack..."  
  
"It's nothing," repeated Jack. "As soon as there's information pertinent for your edification, we'll inform you. For right now, there's nothing. Your cousin is fine. Agent Weiss spent all morning at the office in L.A. to make sure everything was going down smoothly."  
  
He nodded slightly.  
  
"It's fine."  
  
~~~  
  
"This is bizarre, Syd. I mean... Everybody's walking around jumpy. These are highly trained professionals in security and intelligence matters and I'm the guy with the bank statements going... do I need to find a bunker? And what are you still doing in D.C.? I thought you were coming home this afternoon, so that means you would've been on a plane about an hour ago."  
  
Sydney sat at a desk in Langley, in a spacious office she and Vaughn were given to use. "It's a long story, Will," she said, talking to her long-time friend and CIA analyst Will Tippin.  
  
"Are you working on this thing, too?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Everybody is..."  
  
"It's a big thing."  
  
"I mean... I understand you have a scary job. I do. I understand it's dangerous. I understand that there's a whole book load of agents who didn't come back. Just... is there always this much of a fuss when somebody gets targeted?"  
  
"It involves a potential political assassination and it's a guy who's going after her because she's a CIA agent and he knows it. The fact that this thing happened here this morning... we're all in danger. This guy's seriously bad news."  
  
"Enough to scare everybody at CIA?"  
  
"Yeah," she said quietly.  
  
"Is he better or worse than Sloane?"  
  
"I'm not the best person to ask that question, Will."  
  
"I want your opinion."  
  
"I don't think anybody can be worse than Sloane. But, from everything I learn about this guy... He's probably a close second."  
  
"So he's a seriously bad guy..."  
  
"In all the years SD-6 was around... it was breached twice, both times really seriously, one that brought the whole organization to a standstill, got the director's finger cut off, lots of people injured... and the second time, it was dismantled completely. The CIA's been around a lot longer... and this was the first time in anybody's recollection that they evacuated non-essentials and shut down an entire wing of the building, so... think about that for a minute."  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"How goes the bank statement search?"  
  
"He's smart. There are all sorts of offshore accounts and investments and... I mean, it's layer upon layer of crazy banking stuff. His money is everywhere. I think a highly trained accountant would have trouble with this and I'm shocked they left it up to me to figure out where Daddy Terroristbucks sent the last transfer to Jordan. Hey, Syd..."  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Did Credit Dauphine teach you anything about, y'know, banking?"  
  
She smiled. "Absolutely nothing."  
  
"Damn."  
  
"I'm sure you'll figure it out."  
  
"Any clue when you're coming back?"  
  
"Either after this guy is caught... or when Director Conrad doesn't need us anymore. There are other cases, y'know? Sloane's still out there. Sark is out there."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"It's... it's weird here, Will."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"The first thing I heard about Crystal Seaborn was that she was 'sort of a legend.' To hear the stories from some other agents here... She is. She's really good. She's strong, capable, quick-witted, quick on her feet... She saved the Director in the field once. I went down to the commissary today and they're... comparing me to her with the SD-6 takedown, because they'd been working on it for so long and in a year and a half of me working on the case, it's gone."  
  
"Having seen you in kick-butt Bond Babe mode..."  
  
"Will..."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I don't want to be a legend. I want to do my job... and get out."  
  
"I don't know what to tell you, Syd."  
  
She sighed slightly. "I should get back to work."  
  
"I'm going to apply to UCLA to get a degree in accounting."  
  
"Good luck."  
  
"I'm going to need it. See you later..."  
  
"Yeah," she said before hanging up. There was a knock at the door, which caused her to sigh. Standing, she crossed to the door and opened it, surprised to see Crystal there. "Hi."  
  
"Do you have a minute?"  
  
"Yeah, sure. C'min."  
  
Crystal had changed clothes as precaution after opening the letter. She was dressed in casual clothes--the only things she had still at the Farm--which included a pair of soft athletic pants and a CIA tee shirt hidden under her zip-up Princeton sweatshirt, the same one she wore in the picture on her desk. "Thanks... We were talking yesterday morning... with Director Conrad, about... You suggested drawing him out and forcing the target shift so we could control the situation."  
  
She nodded.  
  
"How serious were you about that?"  
  
"I'm not sure I follow you."  
  
"I mean... do you really think we have a chance of pulling off a major coup by faking my death and shifting the target to California?"  
  
"I think... it might be worth it. I think there's a real potential to mess with Jordan's head this way. We 'kill' you off; you show up in California with Sam..." Sydney flashed on what she'd said to Vaughn the night before: Legends are usually dead.  
  
Crystal nodded, her eyes downcast. "I want this guy. I want him on our terms." She looked up. "I want you to help me."  
  
"What can I do?"  
  
"We have to draw this up." Crystal sat down across from her desk and set her notebook on the desktop, removing a pen from the spiral. "This has to be done where it's not going to come back and bite Sam in the ass... which, I think, is going to be one of the most delicate parts. He can't mourn visibly and then all the sudden there's a news report a week later that says: 'In attendance at swearing-in, Seaborn's thought-dead cousin.'"  
  
"But, it can't be done without total fanfare."  
  
"Right."  
  
"Do we have any clue if Jordan or one of his henchmen sent the letter?"  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"How much are you willing to gamble on this?"  
  
Crystal looked up at her. "What do you have in mind?"  
  
"A pretty substantial gamble."  
  
"Tell me more," Crystal said, watching as Sydney sat down across from her.  
  
~~~  
  
Donna appeared in Josh's office door while he sat in his chair, his feet propped up on the desk. He was engrossed in a briefing book. She leaned against the doorjamb, wondering how high he'd jump when she spoke. "Josh?"  
  
To her surprise, he didn't jump or even look up. "Hm?"  
  
"Leo wants to see you."  
  
He nodded, closing the briefing book and easing his legs off his desk. "Rebekah hasn't called, has she?"  
  
Donna shook her head.  
  
He sighed. "'Kay."  
  
"Do you want to call Douglas's office?" she asked.  
  
"No."  
  
"Is this going to be like the Amy thing?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Where you went around she wouldn't even talk to you."  
  
"Donna..."  
  
"Or the Joey thing."  
  
He shook his head, walking towards the door.  
  
"Heaven forbid the Mandy thing..."  
  
"It's not a relationship thing," he said, stopping in front of her.  
  
"Then why do you care if she calls?"  
  
"Because she's having a hard time."  
  
"With termites?"  
  
"And other things."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like things I don't think I should tell you. Leo wants to see me; I should go see what he wants."  
  
"Take your coat."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Margaret said you might talk to the President, too."  
  
He sighed and returned to his desk to retrieve his suit coat that was slung over the back of his chair. "If she calls, have her page me."  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"Big ugly termites," he said, slipping his coat on and slipping past her to walk to the Oval.  
  
En route, he fell instep with Toby, the Communications Director. "Going to Leo's?" the older man asked.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Any clue what it's about?"  
  
"Got a good guess."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Can't say."  
  
"Josh...?"  
  
"We'll find out... Hey, Margaret."  
  
"Go on in," said Leo's assistant.  
  
Josh entered first, with Toby on his heels. "Leo?"  
  
"There've been some developments," the Chief of Staff said gravely.  
  
"What kind of developments?" asked Toby.  
  
"It's possible information could leak out that there was a partial shutdown of operations at Langley," Leo said, watching the staffers' faces.  
  
"What do you mean?" asked Josh.  
  
"First... Toby, we're going to bring you in on what's gone down the past two days," said Leo. "Then we're going to join the President and CIA Director Rob Conrad and Ron Butterfield. Part of this is going to be round two for California, Josh. Part of this... is going to include a dangerous crapshoot and the President wants both of you to tell him what you think. This has serious ramifications for Sam's life and he wants all the informed opinions he can get."  
  
"What's going on with Sam?" asked Toby, his brow creasing in concern.  
  
"Sit down and I'll tell you; Josh, why don't you go on into the other meeting? You'll figure out what happened this morning by listening."  
  
His Deputy nodded, and then eased into the Oval Office through the door that connected to Leo's. The President sat in a wingback chair, a file folder in his lap along with his glasses. He watched Conrad with rapt attention, taking in every detail about what he was saying.  
  
"There is no halfway with this plan," Conrad said. "If we put this into action, and he did it, he's going to know we're bluffing and that's it. Checkmate. Game over. If he didn't... and he thinks somebody screwed up... We've got an edge and it's going to be razor sharp. There's going to be in fighting and he's going to get agitated. His plan failed; he's got to go to a contingency. It'll push the schedule to California."  
  
"And straight to Sam," said Bartlet.  
  
Conrad nodded.  
  
"And when are you suggesting to put this into effect?"  
  
"Symptoms of anthrax poisoning occur within seven days of exposure," said Conrad.  
  
"So, we're talking... right when I'm going to California to support his candidacy."  
  
The CIA Director nodded. "I think it'll be the best time, sir, in all honesty. His security is going to go up. He'll have our L.A. team and your Secret Service. Plus, our trump."  
  
"She's going to be alive," said Bartlet.  
  
Conrad nodded.  
  
"This is a rash assumption, though, don't you think?"  
  
"Sir, we've lost him. Completely. We thought he was going to L.A. and that's come up empty. We've kept a strike team at the airport and no one matching any of their descriptions has come through. We have the audio last night of them saying they were going to draw her out. Him personally making and sending the letter... it seems doubtful. If we could slip it to the media, in a few days, that an agent has fallen dead from anthrax in a letter... and withhold the name because the family has yet to be contacted. We can plant one of our agents as a reporter in the briefing and bring up the symbol. It gets buried somewhere around page twenty-eight because he's gonna know our press secretary's going to be sandbagging whatever other questions come his way."  
  
"What about when it gets to C.J.? When they want to know why the CIA is blocking access?" asked Bartlet.  
  
"Then she says it's an interior matter for the CIA to handle and she knows nothing about it," said Josh, speaking up for the first time.  
  
"I didn't realize you were there," said Bartlet.  
  
"My apologies, Mr. President; Leo said it was all right."  
  
Bartlet nodded, waving him into the office further. "Sit."  
  
Josh took a seat next to Butterfield to listen to more of Conrad's argument.  
  
"What if he did it personally?"  
  
"He may not look for the information in the paper; he may not listen to the news. That would be if we were truly, spectacularly lucky."  
  
"Which we aren't," said Bartlet.  
  
Conrad nodded. "Or, he could see it and blow it off as a copycat. Or he could see it and figure out we're trying to pull something over on him. It's going to fail. It may prompt a quicker attack since we were bold enough to try to trick him. Sir, we've never been on defense like this. The Alliance in SD-6 had the decency to aim most of their hostility towards other elaborate terrorist groups like K-Directorate. We're not even one hundred percent sure why he'd be so bold as to send a letter of all things. It's not his style."  
  
"Is it possible there's someone else from Red Crescent Order who's doing this?"  
  
Conrad shook his head. "I don't think so. There is, but... the letter came in an envelope for a local law firm. We've already picked up an envelope from the firm and matched it to the one our letter came in. Somehow they got their hands on an envelope locally. It's a D.C. cancellation. Somebody's here. Somebody's after her and somebody's going to pay for this."  
  
"But, is it going to be in the President's life?" asked Butterfield.  
  
"If we take the gamble and lose, no. If we take the gamble and win... I hope not."  
  
Stay tuned...  
  
Lines from the next installment:  
  
"C.J. Cregg just said an agent died from anthrax..."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You said she was fine!" 


	8. Chapter 8 of 12

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.  
  
Previously, on the West Wing/Alias: Sam gets a cryptic e-mail from Crystal, which is a red flag for Jack. Vaughn, Sydney, and Conrad watch the first flight land and discover no one's on the plane. Sam makes a stump speech and gets Jack and Weiss to open up about as much as they're willing to share with him, including assuring him that the powdery substance Crystal was exposed to is nothing harmful. Sydney's friend and CIA analyst Will Tippin calls to discuss the absurdity of the operation and Sydney confesses she doesn't like being compared to Crystal, the legend. After the call, Crystal comes in to discuss a dangerous plan to end the situation. Josh and Toby are summoned to Leo's, where Toby gets brought into the inner circle and Josh learns from Conrad in the Oval Office that they have a deadly, dangerous plan.  
  
Sydney sat at her desk, trying not to drum her fingers on the blotter. Crystal sat on the credenza along the far wall, her arms and legs crossed. Both were waiting to hear what Vaughn had to say, as he sat in one of the chairs across from Sydney's desk, reading over the plan they'd concocted.  
  
"You did all this while I went to lunch?" he asked, still reading.  
  
"Yeah," Sydney said.  
  
"How did you do all this while I was at lunch?" He turned a page, his expression growing more perplexed. "You have eighteen thousand contingency plans here. This thing is..."  
  
"Tolstoy long?" asked Sydney.  
  
Vaughn looked up, and nodded. "How could you come up with all of this?"  
  
"Pretty amazing what determination'll do," Crystal said.  
  
"How could you discuss all of this in half an hour, though?" asked Vaughn, glancing at her. "There had to have been more than just the two of you in here working on this."  
  
"Just us girls," Crystal confirmed. "My assistant checked in to see what all the smoke was in case we needed to evacuate again. Just the speed of our writing, nothing to be concerned about," she deadpanned.  
  
"You've got all the contingency plans, the pros and cons for each... the main plan... the probability that it might not work... Half an hour?" he repeated, looking up at them in disbelief.  
  
"There were times when I was a double in SD-6 where I'd give you the SD-6 operation and you would have a counter mission in less than half an hour. What makes this different?" asked Sydney.  
  
"Well... we had more people working on it, people whose only job is planning operations... and our tech people could engineer the devices quickly," said Vaughn.  
  
"So, you're confused over the fact that two field agents, in half an hour, put together a massive case file without so much as a 'what about this' from the Strategy Department?" asked Crystal.  
  
"Yeah, that's... that's it," said Vaughn.  
  
"How 'bout we explain it like this... The two of us have been around the block a couple times. I'm the expert on Red Crescent. It's my life; it's my family... Never underestimate the power of two women on a mission," said Crystal.  
  
"I'm not, it's just..."  
  
"Just what?" asked Sydney.  
  
"Hard to believe any two people could put this together in half an hour."  
  
"Beyond the how'd-the-do-it-factor," began Crystal. "Do you think it's plausible?"  
  
"It's more than plausible. Incredibly dangerous, but..."  
  
"What isn't in this job?" quipped Crystal.  
  
He shrugged, seeing her point. "When do we put this into effect?" asked Vaughn.  
  
"As soon as we hear back from the President," Crystal said, leaning her head against the wall. "Which, is proving to take quite a while."  
  
~~~  
  
"Who the hell came up with this scheme? It's a scheme! It's risky and it's implausible and... They're going to get him killed!" thundered Toby.  
  
The huddle in the Oval Office had lost two and gained two. Conrad and Butterfield were shown to the Mural Room to wait while Toby, Josh, Leo, and the President duked it out over what would be done.  
  
"Who came up with this plan?" asked Bartlet. "Sam's cousin Crystal and Sydney Bristow who was our key to taking down the Alliance."  
  
Bartlet stole some of Toby's thunder but he started up again soon. "They have to know this is dangerous."  
  
"I don't think you have to tell them what dangerous is, Toby," Josh said, shaking his head. "They could write the book on danger."  
  
"They have, on page forty-seven, that if he sent the letter, if this guy knows it's not anthrax, that one of the retaliatory responses might be to kill Sam. Just flat out kill him. You can't approve this, Mr. President."  
  
"That's one of several possibilities," said Leo. "Plus, Conrad says he's got some of the best with Sam right now and has upped it to round the clock assistance, both covert and not."  
  
"What's Sam feel about all of this?" asked Toby.  
  
"Sam doesn't know exactly everything yet," said Josh quietly.  
  
"You don't think it'd be nice if the potential victim had a say in all of this?" roared Toby.  
  
"And have him jumping at shadows while trying to give campaign speeches? Latest numbers came out this morning. He's going down. He took a ten point hit last night, which... has stumped the polling people and the DNC."  
  
"It's because he's under attack!"  
  
"Toby, outside of the CIA, you, me, Josh, Leo, and the Secret Service know what's going on. That's it. I can guarantee you that the two agencies involved aren't the ones who leak information," said Bartlet. "Nobody knows about this."  
  
"It's because Scott Holcomb is lining him up with business," said Josh.  
  
"Who at DNC thought Holcomb would be a good idea?" asked Toby. "Honestly?"  
  
"That's not the issue right now," Leo reminded them. "Right now, do we tell CIA to go ahead?"  
  
"No!" Toby said quickly.  
  
"Josh, what do you think?" asked Bartlet.  
  
Josh was silent for a moment. "I think Agent Bristow is balancing out Crystal's emotional attachment to the case. I think they make a great argument. I think you should tell them to go."  
  
Toby sighed heavily, but Bartlet turned to Leo, asking him with a look.  
  
"It's risky. It's very risky. On the other hand... we authorize nothing and he could still die."  
  
"I'm going to tell him to go," Bartlet said.  
  
"Mr. President," began Toby.  
  
"At some point we're going to have to bring in C.J. in case she gets questioned," said Josh.  
  
"We'll bring her in closer to press conference time," said Leo.  
  
"Sam should know..." Toby began.  
  
"He will. After this is all over with. He knows his cousin is in danger. He knows he's got CIA protection... He'll be fine," said Leo.  
  
"You hope," said Toby.  
  
"This isn't easy, Toby," said Josh. "She doesn't even know about the audio we have from the hotel. She doesn't know that we thought they were landing in L.A. every hour today."  
  
"I assume, when you say she, you're referring to Crystal Seaborn. So, we're going to follow a plan written by someone who doesn't know all the facts!" The Communications Director was livid. "How can you okay this plan, sir? We've had several conversations about this in the past," he said, looking towards Josh and Leo, "about the inadequacies of the Central Intelligence Agency. How good can a Seaborn be anyway? Sam trips over his own two feet, who's to say that his cousin is any different?"  
  
"I do, because she is," Josh said, jumping into the conversation quickly.  
  
"How do you know?" asked Toby.  
  
"Because she's got Donna convinced we went to school together in Connecticut and is Jewish."  
  
"Why would she do that?"  
  
"Because she didn't want her to know she was related to Sam or what was going on. I started to introduce them and she starts in on this whole new character... She was so convincing, even I started to believe the story! She's... You haven't seen her, Toby. You haven't seen the pictures from Borneo where she was almost killed. She's not accident prone; she's good."  
  
"And how long have you known her?"  
  
"I met her yesterday..."  
  
"Yeah, uh-huh. You don't know her, Josh. None of us do."  
  
"Sam does," said Josh. "Sam trusts her."  
  
"This is supposed to make me feel better somehow?" asked Toby. "Sam trusts anybody with a kind face."  
  
"Where the hell do you get off, Toby?"  
  
"Guys..." Leo said warningly.  
  
"I'm ordering the operation. Thank you for your time," Bartlet said sternly.  
  
Josh thanked the President first, followed begrudgingly by Toby before the two slipped off. Charlie appeared at the door they disappeared from. "Sir?"  
  
"Give me a minute, then send Rob Conrad in, please," said Bartlet.  
  
The young bodyman nodded. "Yes, sir."  
  
"What the hell just went on here?" Bartlet asked once the door was closed.  
  
"I'm not sure, sir."  
  
"Make sure they've not continued the fight and are going to be 'gentlemen' and take it outside, would you?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Leo said, slipping out through the door that connected his office to the President's.  
  
Bartlet sat down behind his desk with a sigh. It was going to be risky... but they had to do something. He started looking over the proposed mission again when Conrad was led into the Oval.  
  
"Mr. President?" asked the Director.  
  
Bartlet looked up. "It's a go, Rob."  
  
"Thank you, Mr. President."  
  
"If there's anything we can do..."  
  
Conrad nodded. "Yes, sir."  
  
"Tell them... Godspeed."  
  
"I will, Mr. President, thank you."  
  
~~~  
  
Melissa knocked frantically on the office door, where Vaughn, Sydney, and Crystal were waiting. Vaughn crossed the room to open it. "Yes?"  
  
"Crys, line oh-two; it's Josh Lyman."  
  
Crystal jumped off the credenza and crossed to the phone in front of Sydney, pressing the line button before picking up the handset. "Josh?"  
  
"Crystal, hey... I just got out of a meeting with the President."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"He's going to say yes."  
  
She smiled, flashing a thumb's up to Sydney. "That's great."  
  
"Is this going to work...?"  
  
"I'm going to make it work. I gotta go."  
  
"I'll see you later?"  
  
"Yeah. Bye."  
  
"Bye," he said softly.  
  
She hung up and was silent for a moment.  
  
"Well?" asked Vaughn.  
  
"We've got the go. We've got four days prep. Any later than that, he's not going to go to California if we're right. We gotta get moving, c'mon!"  
  
~~~  
  
Josh didn't see Crystal that night. When he called Langley to try and find out if she was coming to spend the night, he was told she was in meetings. All six times he tried. He'd run her clothes out to the Farm in the morning, he guessed.  
  
Crawling into bed, he thought about the whirlwind that had spun through his life in the past two days. She was... something else. Maybe Donna had it right. Maybe he was interested in her. His type seemed to be strong women in the political arena. That explained Mandy, who he sparred with... and Joey, who he sparred with... and even Amy, who he sparred with. While he hadn't fought with Crystal, he'd fought Toby about Crystal.  
  
He sighed, looking at the ceiling. It was just the weirdness of the whole situation. That was it. His best friend had asked him to look after a relative... who happened to be attractive and in a tight spot. It was just the fact that he wanted to be the guy who 'the guy' turned to. He wanted to be the loyal, dependable one who got things done. And he was realizing Clark Kent couldn't save Lois Lane, only Superman could. As good as he might be, he was no super hero. And Crystal wasn't exactly Lois Lane. He was willing to bet she was more of a Wonder Woman.  
  
And he was destined to be a bachelor.  
  
~~~  
  
Life at the CIA headquarters was hectic and moving at a nonstop pace, both in D.C. and L.A. Crystal managed catnaps in her office and Sydney and Vaughn snagged a few hours away from the Farm at their hotel, but only long enough to pass out briefly before returning to work.  
  
Weiss became Sam's roommate, but even then, while Sam slept, Weiss stayed awake and caught up on what was being tossed around and planned in Washington. Jack was in near constant contact with Sydney, helping foster the operation from the opposite coast, and doing the logistical research for where they would attempt to lead Jordan and his men to their elaborate trap.  
  
When Thursday rolled around, Crystal, Vaughn, Sydney, and Conrad were in the Director's office, huddled around a closed circuit TV to watch the press briefing, being issued by the Agency's press secretary. Crystal vacantly chewed on her lower lip, her arms crossed over her chest as the briefing began.  
  
"Good morning. I have some sad news to report. This morning, at six- fifteen, one of our agents died. She was exposed to an anthrax-coated letter this past Saturday. Part of our office was shut down after the letter was discovered and staff was evacuated. I cannot release the name of the agent, as her family has not yet been contacted. I can't answer any questions you have about the letter or the anthrax, as it's still being investigated, but if you have any other sorts of questions, I'll be happy to entertain them." He nodded to the first reporter.  
  
"I'm assuming this was a field agent not, say, an assistant?"  
  
"Yes," said the press secretary.  
  
"What case was she working on?" asked another reporter.  
  
"That information is classified."  
  
Another "reporter" spoke up.  
  
"Here goes," muttered Crystal, holding her breath.  
  
"I have an inside source who said the letter was a piece of paper with a symbol on it, a crescent. Can you tell me anything about that? What it might mean?"  
  
"I can't answer anything about the letter, no."  
  
"Is it someone's signature?" queried the agent further.  
  
"I can't answer that. One more question."  
  
~~~  
  
The White House's own press secretary, C.J. Cregg, found her way to Josh's office. "Carol said you wanted to see me about something before the noon briefing?"  
  
Josh nodded. "Close the door, would you?"  
  
She entered, pulling the door closed behind her. "What's going on?"  
  
"You may get a question or two about a CIA agent dying."  
  
"Why would I get a question about a CIA agent dying?"  
  
"Because the CIA gave a press briefing that said they lost an agent."  
  
"All right..."  
  
"You're going to say you know nothing about what happened and you're going to defer to the CIA to bring the updates on what's going on."  
  
"Well, that's not going to be hard since I don't know anything. Did an agent really die?"  
  
Josh didn't answer.  
  
"What's been going on? I've heard whispers about us not going to California this weekend."  
  
"We're going to California this weekend."  
  
"Why would we not go to California this weekend?"  
  
"No reason, because we *are* going," repeated Josh.  
  
"You and Toby have both been acting rather strained the past couple of days. You won't say two civil words to each other in staff meetings."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So, what's that all about?"  
  
"Does it matter?"  
  
"You've been running around trying to act all cool and you're failing miserably. Something's wrong."  
  
"Just... I'm worried about Sam's numbers. Have you seen how far they've dropped?"  
  
"Yeah... And that's not it."  
  
He sighed.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"There have been some security issues brought up about the trip to California."  
  
"Somebody's after Sam?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.  
  
"Sort of."  
  
"How can somebody be sort of after Sam?"  
  
"It's a long story that I don't have the time to explain it to you."  
  
"Who do I talk to in order to get the rest of the story?"  
  
"Paul Harvey?"  
  
"Dammit, Josh!"  
  
"Look, C.J., we're working on the security issue and today is the day that it might go over *badly*, so give me a break for not wanting to jinx what we've got in the works right now."  
  
"If somebody asks and I can't tell them anything... They're still sore over the fact that a black Bell Jet landed on the South Lawn and it wasn't until the final briefing of the day that I told them it was the CIA Director. Now this thing with a dead agent who's not really dead?"  
  
"Who said she's not dead?"  
  
"You didn't say she was, whoever *she* is, if *she* even exists!"  
  
"C.J.--"  
  
"I thought we were past this Boys' Club, keeping C.J. out of the loop *crap*."  
  
"We're in the middle of a crisis right now, C.J.--"  
  
"So let me spin it!"  
  
He sighed heavily. "Let's... Let's talk to Leo."  
  
"So you can get permission to talk to me about this?"  
  
"There are members involved in this who don't know everything. It's not just you."  
  
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You better push Leo to tell me what's going on."  
  
He sighed again. "C'mon."  
  
~~~  
  
"How does it feel to be dead?" Sydney asked.  
  
"Kinda like how it feels to be alive." She smiled thinly. She and Sydney were sitting in Crystal's office, channel surfing on her television set, trying to find a news channel that had picked up the story yet.  
  
"That good?"  
  
Crystal smiled. "That bad." She stopped on C-Span, as it covered the White House press briefing. "They said C.J. Cregg might get some questions."  
  
They listened as C.J. spoke about the latest education initiative and the status of a bill in Congress before she finally opened the floor to questions. "Danny?"  
  
"The CIA director makes an emergency landing on the South Lawn because he can't get to BWI... and yet the CIA had a dinner for Senate and House Intelligence and the President that night. And then today the CIA says that one of their agents died because of a letter she received the next day. What's goin' on over at Langley?"  
  
C.J. pushed her glasses further up her nose. "As far as I know, they're our intelligence-gathering hub. The DCI's itinerary is not usually funneled through my office nor can I speak about the investigation into the agent's death."  
  
"So, as far as you know... nothing's odd at CIA?"  
  
"I can tell there's something odd here." C.J. smiled, and several of the other reporters chuckled. "If you want to know about the CIA, you're going to have to ask the CIA."  
  
"They think you're odd, Crystal," Sydney commented.  
  
"They don't know me very well. Otherwise, they'd know I was even." Crystal smiled.  
  
"What about the red crescent someone mentioned?" asked another reporter from the TV set.  
  
"Is that some sort of pastry?" C.J. asked, effectively deflecting the question and prompting another laugh from the reporters. "No? Then, I don't know. It's an internal CIA matter; you're going to have to take it up with them."  
  
"And we're not gonna give you jack, so you should get used to being in the dark. We've leaked our information, that's as far as we're going," said Crystal.  
  
"How are we flying back to California?" Sydney asked, glancing at Crystal as the reporters moved onto other subjects.  
  
"The three of us are going, you, me, and Agent Vaughn, so Robby's trying to get us free passes on Air Force One."  
  
"Air Force One?"  
  
"The President's plane," Crystal said with a nod, which prompted Sydney to shoot her a quick look. She smiled a little, in apology. "They're going where we need to be. Why shouldn't we take advantage of it?"  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"They'll be arriving about the right time, too. Plus... we'll be able to pack heat, which we can't unless we charter a private plane and, since the President's plane is headed there anyway... and the 'Service takes weapons on board... why can't we."  
  
"When is Conrad having that discussion?"  
  
Crystal looked at her watch. "He's having another powwow with Butterfield and the President right about now."  
  
"Any desire to be a fly on that wall?"  
  
"Oh, hell no." Crystal smiled. "Robby's a good guy, but man... he's on his own there."  
  
~~~  
  
Sam was out on the campaign trail, with Jack and Weiss on the lookout wherever they went. For the moment, they were at another community center, and there was a television on in the background as he worked the crowd. He felt his heart hit his knees when he heard what C.J. was talking about.  
  
A dead agent?  
  
Jack had told him Crystal was fine, but... he hadn't talked to her on the phone or even gotten an e-mail back from her. He'd called and talked to Josh every night but Josh said even he was in the dark on her whereabouts.  
  
"Jack..." Sam began.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
"I think I need to talk to you."  
  
"All right..."  
  
"Excuse me, just a minute folks," Sam said with a smile before leading Jack out of the room and into an empty corridor.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"C.J. Cregg just said an agent died from anthrax..."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You said she was fine!"  
  
"She is."  
  
"Then..."  
  
"We're trying to pull Jordan out into the open."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"I can't get into all the details here, Sam, but I can tell you that you should be reunited with your cousin this weekend."  
  
"She's coming here?"  
  
Jack nodded.  
  
"All right..."  
  
"You should get back to your crowd before they think something's wrong."  
  
"I want to talk to her. Can you get her on the phone for me when we're en route back to the headquarters?"  
  
"I'll do my best."  
  
Stay tuned...  
  
Lines from the next installment:  
  
"Why'd you join? Why'd you say yes? It was because you finally ran away somewhere where you couldn't get back out."  
  
"You know nothing about the Company, Sam. Nothing."  
  
"Because you won't tell me. It's like a cult! They have you sever all family ties. Anytime anybody tries to tell you something bad about the Company, it's wrong, because the Company's always right. The Company isn't always right, Crys!" 


	9. Chapter 9 of 12

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one. Also, Kiki and hockey_princess, e-mail me at kuryakingirl@yahoo.com and I'll answer all your questions. ;)  
  
Previously, on the West Wing/Alias: Vaughn is impressed by the combined talent of Crystal and Sydney in constructing the plan, while Toby, recently in on the terrorist threat, thinks the plan is an awful idea. Either way, the President gives the okay, and the CIA agents buckle down to prepare for a dangerous gamble. Josh ponders his love life and lack thereof before the CIA announces an agent "died." C.J. is finally brought in to spin the story from the White House but Sam, as usual, is the last to know, and hears the news over the television at a campaign stop, worried his cousin really is dead.  
  
It was dusk when the black SUV pulled up to Andrews Air Force Base. Vaughn was at the wheel, and presented proper credentials when stopped at the gate. Sydney sat beside him in the passenger seat, while Crystal sat in the back. All three were in business casual clothes. It was a Friday night after all.  
  
"I'm going to have to search your gear, just to make sure it's stored properly," said the guard.  
  
"That's not a problem," Vaughn said.  
  
"All right, pull through, please," said the guard, returning the credentials. The SUV pulled through and pulled over. Vaughn turned off the engine and climbed out. Sydney and Vaughn headed around to open the back hatch to allow the guard to check a locker and their luggage. Crystal climbed out, pulling out her duffel bag and setting it on the ground for inspection.  
  
As Crystal watched the guard sift through their belongings, the cellular phone in her jacket pocket began to ring. Pulling it out, she answered. "Yeah?"  
  
"Crys?"  
  
"Sam..."  
  
"I've been trying to get a hold of you all week."  
  
"I'm sorry, cuz, it's kinda been a weird week."  
  
"How are you?"  
  
"I'm hangin' in there; how are you?"  
  
"Worried about you."  
  
"There's no need for that. How's the campaign?"  
  
"It's starting to take some serious turns for the worse."  
  
"I'm sorry to hear that," she said honestly. "How're our guys treating you?"  
  
"I haven't had a roommate since college, but it's not so bad."  
  
"All right," she said with a soft smile.  
  
"What happened to spending the night with Josh?"  
  
"We went into planning mode. We want to micromanage everything, make sure we've got contingency plans for our contingency plans."  
  
"What's going to happen here?" he asked quietly.  
  
"You're going to be fine," she assured him confidently.  
  
"What about you?"  
  
"I'm going to protect you."  
  
"Crystal..."  
  
"And I'm going to be fine, too. He can't kill me. He's tried and failed."  
  
"What if he does?"  
  
"Will not happen."  
  
"You're putting up this bravado and that's great for, y'know, morale of the CIA, I guess, but this is me, Crys. This is Sam. This is the guy who's seen you at rock bottom. You can tell me."  
  
"I'm telling you, Sam, it's not going to happen. He's playing on our timetable, on our board, with our rules. Nobody's gonna die on my watch." Not again, she added in her head.  
  
"Do you always get this determined?"  
  
"Nobody messes with family."  
  
"There are areas, Crys, where you take that entirely too far. This might be one of them. Your father was definitely one of them--"  
  
"Don't bring Dad into this."  
  
"He's the reason you joined."  
  
"Stop."  
  
"He's the reason you ran away for good..."  
  
"Dammit, Sam!"  
  
"Both our fathers were bastards, especially yours."  
  
"Will you cut it out?"  
  
"It's the truth and you know it. My father slept around. Your father used to beat you--"  
  
She pulled her glasses off, pushing them up into her hair. "I want you to stop this. Save this for when I'm not in the middle of a mission."  
  
"And if I do that, you'll say it's not a good time either. It's never a good time to discuss the truth with you. You've been in that agency so long that you don't want to listen to the truth, to see the light!"  
  
"When this is over, I swear, we'll talk about it, but for right now I need to have my head in the game and you're gonna pull it right out!"  
  
"Why'd you join? Why'd you say yes? It was because you finally ran away somewhere where you couldn't get back out."  
  
"You know nothing about the Company, Sam. Nothing."  
  
"Because you won't tell me. It's like a cult! They have you sever all family ties. Anytime anybody tries to tell you something bad about the Company, it's wrong, because the Company's always right. The Company isn't always right, Crys!"  
  
"The Company is trying to save your ass, Sam! We've been protecting you for a week!"  
  
"Will you ever admit why you're there? Ever?"  
  
"This is my job, Sam. Somebody's gotta do it."  
  
"You're not somebody."  
  
"I'm sure as hell not a debutante. Never was. I wasn't going to go to law school like you or Dad or Uncle Norman. Med school was never in the cards for me either. I'm good at this. Why can't you accept me for who I am?"  
  
"I do."  
  
"The hell you do!"  
  
"Crystal--"  
  
"The hell you do," she repeated, her voice cold. "I have to get to work."  
  
"Crys, wait..."  
  
"I'll see you in California." She snapped her phone closed, dropping it back in her coat pocket before rubbing her eyes.  
  
"Are you all right?" Sydney asked.  
  
She looked up. "Perfectly fine."  
  
~~~  
  
Crystal sat in an empty conference room on Air Force One as they cruised along. She'd long since shed her jacket and sat in the comfortable leather executive chair in her khaki slacks and black button-up shirt. She'd pulled her hair back after takeoff. She stared at the wall, thinking about what Sam had said. As she'd predicted, her mind was anywhere but the game, where it needed to be focused. Sighing heavily, she removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She was going to have to pull it together within the next few hours.  
  
The door to the conference room was jerked open and a gruff looking Toby entered. He was stunned to see anyone there. "I'm sorry; I thought the room was empty."  
  
"It's all right."  
  
He frowned. "You look familiar to me."  
  
"I'm Rebekah Morganstern; I work for Douglas on House Intelligence," she said, only halfheartedly into the performance.  
  
"No, that's... that's not it."  
  
"I'm afraid it is."  
  
"No, it's... You look... I can't put my finger on it."  
  
"I work on the Hill," she said, looking up at him.  
  
There was something about the way the light hit her, something about her expression, when all the pieces of family resemblance fell into place. "No you don't. You're Crystal Seaborn."  
  
"Well, now you gotta die; you figured out my secret identity," she said flatly.  
  
"You two look very much alike..."  
  
"Seaborn genes are hard to overcome. By the way, who are you?"  
  
"Toby Ziegler, White House Communications Director."  
  
"Aah. It becomes clear now."  
  
"You... You're Sam's cousin."  
  
"That is not a fact I want spread across this plane, thank you very much. As I understand it, there's a whole room full of reporters on this bird."  
  
"There are."  
  
"Then, this information goes no farther."  
  
"I have no intention of sharing that fact."  
  
"All right then," she said, slipping her glasses back on.  
  
"Do you mind if I sit with you for a moment?"  
  
"I suppose not."  
  
Toby sat down across from her. "I've never met anyone in Sam's family before."  
  
"It's not a group you want to be associated with, necessarily."  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
"Long story."  
  
"You don't look like a CIA agent."  
  
"I would hope not. Kinda puts a crimp in my ability to work, y'know? No arms dealers will talk to someone who looks like a spy."  
  
Toby offered a quirky smile. "You don't like to talk about your job."  
  
"Loose lips sink ships."  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
The door to the conference room opened again, and in walked Donna. "There you are, Toby, Congresswoman Wyatt..." She drifted off. "Ms. Morganstern."  
  
Crystal smiled. "Hello again, Donna. Please, it's Rebekah."  
  
Donna nodded.  
  
"What about Congresswoman Wyatt?" prompted Toby.  
  
"She wants to see you. She had a lengthier description of you but I forgot which exact expletives she used."  
  
"Probably a good thing," Toby said, standing. "It was nice meeting you... Rebekah." He exited the conference room.  
  
Crystal was quite ready to drop. Even Donna could tell. "Do you want me to go get Josh?" she offered.  
  
Crystal looked up at the younger woman warily for a moment but nodded. "Yeah, actually... that'd be nice."  
  
~~~  
  
Sydney and Vaughn had found a quiet area on the plane as well, and were sitting together silently, killing time. Sydney's eyes were closed and Vaughn noted she looked quite peaceful. Her peacefulness would not last long, however. Charlie, the President's body man approached them. "Excuse me, Mr. Vaughn, Ms. Bristow," he said, conscious of the unclassified ears around them.  
  
"Yes?" asked Vaughn.  
  
"You have a phone call; if you'll follow me?" Sydney and Vaughn fell instep behind Charlie who led them to a small office. "No one should bother you here."  
  
"Thanks," Sydney said softly as Vaughn picked up the phone.  
  
"This is Vaughn."  
  
"And this is Weiss."  
  
"Hey, what's going on?"  
  
"Some good news, I think."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"With the help of a French informant and Will's bank account tracking, we've tracked cash from Papa Terrorist Renard to an American Airlines flight from D.C. to the L.A. area."  
  
"You're joking..."  
  
"That's the good news."  
  
"Figures."  
  
"The bad news is that he's already here. The plane touched down half an hour ago."  
  
"And we didn't know until just now, did we?"  
  
"Literally the moment before I called you. We even have visual confirmation, a tape from airport security showing all six men disembarking."  
  
"He's going to want to set up shop before anything goes down, right?"  
  
"Yeah. And we've increased Sam's security, though I don't know how much longer it's going to be before Scott Holcomb, his campaign manager, and Jack Bristow come to blows. They've uh... been getting into some strenuous arguments of late."  
  
"Is Sam adverse to getting a new campaign manager, one we can work with?"  
  
"He says it's the DNC's call to make."  
  
"So, that's a yes."  
  
"Unfortunately."  
  
"All right... can you have someone meet us at the airport? Somebody who can take our bags so we're not leaving luggage on Air Force One?"  
  
"You bet."  
  
"We'll call you as soon as we land and meet up with you."  
  
"Sounds good. We'll see you when you land."  
  
"Thanks, man."  
  
"Not a problem."  
  
Vaughn hung up and looked up at Sydney. "You and Crystal pulled off a major coup."  
  
"We did it?"  
  
"So far," Vaughn said with a nod. "He's taken the bait. And sloppily. We have video."  
  
She smiled broadly. "I'm going to go tell Crystal the good news. She didn't die in vain!"  
  
With Vaughn's laughter following her, Sydney slipped out of the office. She wandered around for a moment, before finally spotting Charlie. "Do you know where Crystal is?"  
  
"I think so," he said with a nod, leading her towards a conference room. Charlie knocked on the closed door, and when he heard Josh's muffled response, he opened the door. "Josh, is..." He drifted off when he saw Crystal curled up in Josh's arms, asleep. Charlie looked at Sydney then gestured inside.  
  
"'Sup?" asked Josh softly.  
  
"When she wakes up, I'm sure she'll be happy to know that we got lucky. Our gamble paid off."  
  
"So far, so good?" asked Josh.  
  
Sydney nodded, then turned slightly more serious. "She hasn't slept much this past week."  
  
"I didn't figure she had," he said, glancing down at her. "Didn't figure she'd fall asleep this quickly either."  
  
"She got into a pretty serious argument on the tarmac while we were going through security... somebody on her phone. She wandered away so we couldn't hear, but I think it drained her the most out of everything."  
  
He nodded. "I don't think anybody's said this yet... but thanks."  
  
"It's not necessary. We've not accomplished anything yet. We've faked the death of a CIA agent. Possibly one of the easiest deaths to fake yet. All it took was one well-placed agent asking a spokesman a question. Besides... this is our job. This is what we do."  
  
"Still..."  
  
"Let's just try to get through the weekend, then we'll see about giving thanks."  
  
Josh nodded.  
  
Sydney smiled slightly, and left the room.  
  
~~~  
  
When Ron Butterfield heard the news of Jordan's jaunt to California, he was less than pleased. He was less than enthusiastic. Sydney was certain he probably wished their gamble had lost. The President had immediately congratulated her but the storm cloud that was Ron Butterfield had yet to rear his ugly head.  
  
"We can't land in Orange County," Butterfield said.  
  
"Why not?" asked Bartlet.  
  
"There could be an ambush; he'll have had hours of early warning."  
  
"What, exactly, do you suggest, Agent Butterfield?" Sydney asked  
  
"There's another airport in that vicinity that can accept Air Force One, and that's Ontario International."  
  
"That's a forty-minute drive out of the way," said Sydney, "in another county entirely."  
  
"Perhaps the CIA believes it's all right to risk the life of the President. People may be expendable there, but they are not in the Secret Service, particularly those who are elected leaders. All in all, we've been supportive and understanding in this ludicrous undertaking. We cannot and we will not allow this President to be injured or harmed in any way, and that means we're landing in San Bernardino County. If that, in some way, obscures your plans, I'm sorry. You're a guest on this flight. This isn't CIA One, this is Air Force One, the airplane of the President, not the DCI." Butterfield stood. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. President, I need to inform the captain of the change in flight plan."  
  
"What about those on the ground? They've closed the '5 freeway..." said Vaughn.  
  
"If Victor Jordan has a plan to take out the President and Sam because of your little charade... I don't want him getting a head's up that we're moving location."  
  
"Go on, Ron," the President said.  
  
Butterfield gave a crisp nod and exited the President's office.  
  
"We're going to have to call Weiss back," Vaughn said quietly to Sydney.  
  
"If you two need to use the phone, you're more than welcome to this one," Bartlet said, standing up, prompting the two CIA field agents to get to their feet as well.  
  
"Thank you, sir," Sydney and Vaughn both said as the President slipped out. Vaughn picked up the phone and started dialing. "How long until we land?" he asked.  
  
"With the change in destination... half an hour."  
  
When Weiss answered, Vaughn skipped pleasantries and jumped right into what needed to be done. "There's been a change in plan; we need those agents at Ontario International and they're going to have to put the pedal to the metal to get there in time from Orange County."  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"Secret Service is pissed off. You have campaign credentials for Sydney and Crystal?"  
  
"They're with the agent who will soon be speeding towards Ontario."  
  
"Anything else I need to be aware of?" asked Vaughn.  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
"Thanks, Weiss. Wheels down ETA, thirty minutes." With that, Vaughn ended the call.  
  
~~~  
  
Bartlet found the conference room where Josh and Crystal were holed up. "I thought I heard Donna say you were hiding," Bartlet said softly.  
  
Josh had adjusted slightly, his legs were propped up on the conference table, and Crystal was still passed out in his lap, her head on his shoulder. "I'd stand, sir, but..."  
  
"You had better keep your seat," said Bartlet in a mock threatening tone.  
  
The Deputy Chief of Staff smiled a little and went back to lightly rubbing Crystal's back. "What can I do for you, Mr. President?"  
  
"Tell me we made the right choice."  
  
"We're doing all we can do. Leo's got Kundu. The economic package is gonna wait till Monday. Hopefully we won't literally kill Sam before we politically kill him..." He shrugged slightly. "I can't assure you that we've made all the right choices to lead us to a quiet, calm trip, but... Between terrorists and genocide... can this trip be worse?"  
  
"If this plane goes down, I'm haunting your ass for eternity," Bartlet said, wagging a finger at him.  
  
"Point taken."  
  
Bartlet eased into a seat across from him. "What does your gut tell you about Sam's campaign? Is he going to win?"  
  
"Last week... yes, ten points. This week... He's gonna have to walk on water and heal the sick to pull it off."  
  
"On the one hand... I want him to win. On the other..."  
  
"You want him back as a senior counselor."  
  
Bartlet nodded.  
  
"Right now, I'm contented to have him live," Josh said quietly.  
  
"Amen."  
  
"Is this going to work?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"The operation."  
  
Bartlet shrugged. "There's only one way to find out."  
  
Josh sighed slightly.  
  
"Wishing you'd stayed home?" asked the President.  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
Josh smiled. "No."  
  
"We should be landing shortly; you might want to wake her up."  
  
Josh nodded. "Thank you, sir." As Bartlet slipped out, Josh gently shook her shoulder. "Crystal..." She snuggled slightly closer, which made him smile, but that wasn't quite what he was hoping for. "Crys..."  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"We're about to land."  
  
"About to what?"  
  
"Land."  
  
"But, we were just over Kentucky..."  
  
"Yeah, you took quite a nap there," he said gently.  
  
She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "They should bottle you," she said, yawning. "Who needs sleeping pills, take a Josh instead."  
  
"I don't seem to have that effect on anyone else though."  
  
"What does that say about me, then?" she asked, easing off his lap.  
  
"That you're tired. Exhausted."  
  
"Hmm." She picked up her glasses, sliding them on. "I have to go to work now."  
  
"Crystal..."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Since you're dead and everything... why don't you come to the hotel tonight and stay with me?"  
  
"If I'm not working," she said, taking her hair down from the ponytail and running her fingers through it.  
  
"Seriously. You look like you've been sleep depraved for a long time, and if it helps..."  
  
She seemed to avoid his question. "I need to find Sydney and Vaughn."  
  
"She said he's here..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"She said earlier... Your plan is working."  
  
Light came to her green eyes and a slight smile formed on her lips. "I really have to go. I'll see you later," she said, stepping into her shoes and heading out of the room. She found her fellow CIA agents sitting away from the rest of the politicos on board and sat down across from them. "He's here?"  
  
Sydney nodded.  
  
"And we're starting tonight, right?"  
  
"I'm going to catch up at the headquarters with Weiss, but you two are going on to the site. Jack will be there. Kendall, too," Vaughn said, the last sentence more for Sydney's benefit than Crystal's.  
  
"And a lot of video cameras," said Sydney. "I talked with C.J. Cregg; she said the press was going to be out in force. With the President being there, the local and White House reporters are going to be crawling all over the place."  
  
A voice addressed the cabin, informing them they were on final approach into Ontario.  
  
Crystal fastened her seatbelt. She was ready. They were, however, one of the last ones off the plane, prompting a quick descent down to the tarmac. Weiss and another agent were already on the ground, working with the Air Force One crew to get the agents' luggage.  
  
"We'll see you over there," Vaughn said before he and Weiss spirited the bags to one SUV, and the other agent opened both side doors of another.  
  
Crystal, taking the locker, slid it across the back seat before climbing in while Sydney jumped in the front passenger seat. "Let's go!" Sydney said as the agent started the car and took them out a back exit. "You have the campaign shirts?" The agent gestured towards a bag between the seats, which Sydney snatched up, pulling one shirt out for her, the other for Crystal.  
  
"Can we beat the motorcade to the rally?" Crystal asked, having no qualms with changing her shirt in the back seat.  
  
"We should," answered the agent.  
  
"Excellent," Crystal said, opening the trunk beside her and pulling out a handgun.  
  
Stay tuned...  
  
Lines from the next installment:  
  
"Haven't you heard? Orange County hates you."  
  
"Get out."  
  
"They hate you."  
  
"Get *out!*" roared Sam. 


	10. Chapter 10 of 12

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.  
  
** Note **  
  
This comes with all due apologies to most gentle readers of my story. Your feedback has been greatly appreciated and I've done my best to contact each one personally through e-mails. Due to my most recent review and the lack of e-mail address that accompanied it, I felt compelled to issue a statement before continuing onto Chapter 10, which directly follows this. Please, look for the asterisks if you wish to skip the statement if it does not apply to you:  
  
Since you left me no e-mail address in which to contact you, I feel this is probably the easiest way in which to reach you. There is such a thing as Ontario International Airport. It's in Orange County, California. For your information, I spent probably an hour trying to research this particular scene with this particular incident, going so far as to contact West Wing fans in the Orange County area and delving through online map sources with airports to gauge roots and travel times.  
  
Please don't jump to the conclusion that there's only one Ontario and it's in your country. I am an American. I can't say that I've been to Canada, but I can claim that my great-great grandfather was from there, and that I have a wonderful friend in Nova Scotia. I at least know that place names are often re-used. For example, in my home state of Tennessee, there's a Paris and an Athens and a Memphis and a Carthage (home of a former Vice President) and all of those names originate in countries other than the United States.  
  
I'm sorry you felt the need to insult my intelligence before doing your homework. I worked very hard on this story, rewriting the entire thing no less than three times. Thank you for applauding my choice in crossover and I would love to see you attempt to merge the very organized, very connected Alias, with the fast-and-loose West Wing (is Leo from Chicago? Boston? Bostago?) I have been writing WW fic for about four years, but Aaron Sorkin has not rubbed off on me to the point where I have made gross geographical errors (for a glaring geographical error with Canada, watch Isaac and Ishmael).  
  
Forgive me if I got "huffy" with you in return, but please, please, think before you write. I do. I may not have the research departments that Alias and West Wing have, but I do try my best.  
  
On with the story.  
  
**  
  
Previously, on The West Wing/Alias: Sam and Crys get into an argument over why she joined the CIA, and he brings up part of her history. The CIA learns that Jordan has, in fact, taken their bait. This fact upsets the Secret Service, and Ron Butterfield changes the airport Air Force One will land at as a security precaution. Crystal manages a nap in Josh's arms in an empty conference room before waking up right before wheels down with good news. The CIA team speeds to the rally site, in the hopes of beating the motorcade.  
  
Jack stood with Sam away from the rest of the campaign and the rallying supporters and dialed a number on his cellular phone. The President was running late, but more importantly, so were Crystal and Sydney.  
  
"Yeah?" Sydney answered.  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
"Turning into the parking lot now."  
  
"Hurry up."  
  
"We're coming, Dad," she said, terminating the call.  
  
Sam looked at Jack expectantly. "Any second," answered Jack.  
  
"Because the last word from the motorcade is five minutes..."  
  
"They're coming," he said, glancing in the direction of the parking lot, hoping to see them come in.  
  
Sam sighed nervously, glancing around. Spotting movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned, to see two people running towards them, both in Seaborn for Congress tee shirts. "Jack..."  
  
"That's them," Jack said with a nod.  
  
The candidate let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as he recognized his cousin, someone he hadn't seen in quite a while. "Crystal..."  
  
She smiled, moving to give him a hug. "Hey, cuz," she said quietly.  
  
He held onto her, tightly for a moment, before releasing her.  
  
"Where do we need to be, Dad?" Sydney asked.  
  
"Whichever one of you is starting out needs to be out front, the other, under the dais."  
  
"What's going on?" asked Sam, glancing at the two female CIA agents before him. Both were in khakis and campaign shirts and both had their hair clipped back in the same way. Sam noted that Crystal's glasses were missing. Standing together, at about the same height, they had a similar physical build.  
  
"We're going to play a little mind game in front of the television cameras," answered Crystal.  
  
"And it'll work?" asked Sam, looking doubtful.  
  
"Have we let you down yet?" asked Crystal, smiling.  
  
"Well, no, but..."  
  
"Then watch," she said.  
  
"Sam!" called Scott. "They're here!"  
  
"I have to go greet the President," said Sam, placing his hand on his cousin's arm.  
  
"Go," Crystal said. "I'll be around." She winked at him, sending him on his way. As Sam wandered off, Crystal looked up at Jack. "I'm glad you've been the one here."  
  
"You've got some place to be, Agent Seaborn."  
  
Crystal nodded, and dashed off, in a different direction from Sam.  
  
"How well do you two know each other...?" asked Sydney.  
  
"We'll talk later; I need to catch up with Sam."  
  
~~~  
  
Weiss and Vaughn had gathered in front of a television screen. One of their own was out at the rally site with a camera, sending live feed back to the CIA office. "Somebody's been out talking to rental offices and apartments near the campaign headquarters to find out if Jordan's been by, right?" Vaughn asked, watching.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"And?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Hotels?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"What about the money trail? We have confirmation from transfer records that Jordan's father footed the bill for the airline travel and we have confirmation that they landed and were at LAX because of the security footage."  
  
Weiss nodded.  
  
"So, why can't we follow more money transfers to see about a hotel or a business or whatever other possible place he could rent or even buy to be close enough where he could set up shop and be near his target. This guy doesn't mind getting down and dirty."  
  
"I've got Will on it now."  
  
"Looking into rental cars, too? They're going to have to have transportation."  
  
"They could always take a cab."  
  
"Do it anyway."  
  
"I'll get Marshall to see about pulling in the electronic data so we can cross-reference with known aliases and bank accounts."  
  
"There's Crystal..." Vaughn said, pointing to the lower corner of the screen.  
  
"The Director doesn't usually allow visuals of field agents..."  
  
"Special circumstances."  
  
"Still. And two of them..."  
  
"If we can't figure out where he is, if he's got his act back together and has all his transactions bouncing through eight accounts... This'll keep him on his toes and hopefully making mistakes, too."  
  
"But, the two of them?" asked Weiss, watching as people behind Crystal obscured her from view for a moment. When the blockage stopped, Sydney was in her place. It was a flawless transition.  
  
"We can't easily pull somebody off the street and go: 'we're going to give you an earpiece and when you hear a voice give a cue, you're going to come out from under the stage and take the place of this woman who looks sorta like you.'"  
  
"I guess." They watched for a while, as Crystal and Sydney pulled off another flawless switch. "How was Air Force One?"  
  
"Not bad."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Vaughn nodded.  
  
~~~  
  
Directly after the President spoke, Ron Butterfield shuttled Bartlet back to the motorcade to get him to the hotel immediately. The rash act left several members of the White House staff at the rally site, including Josh and Toby and Donna.  
  
"Well this... sucks," said Josh, watching as the last Secret Service SUV pulled out of the parking lot, leaving them behind.  
  
"At least we're not out in the middle of nowhere this time," Donna said, her face falling.  
  
"And we're not going to miss the plane either," said Toby.  
  
"Déjà vu sucks," Josh muttered, glancing back as Sam's campaign started to pack up. "I'm sure Sam'll let us hitchhike." He started to cross towards the candidate.  
  
Sam, Crystal, Sydney and Bristow were standing in a huddle behind the stage. Their hushed conversation was almost all but drowned out by the noise of the crowd on the other side dispersing.  
  
"When will we know?" asked Sam.  
  
"We'll have to hear back from the L.A. office first," said Jack. "And Weiss and Vaughn are there; they called in the middle of the rally and said that the execution was clean."  
  
"Execution?" asked Josh, picking up on a key word without knowing what was going on. "We got 'em?"  
  
Sam shook his head. "Not yet."  
  
"Precision of the ground troops," Crystal explained, her hands in her pockets.  
  
"Speaking of precision of ground troops or lack thereof," Josh began. "We missed our ride."  
  
Sam burst out laughing.  
  
"Butterfield was bookin' it, give us a break," Josh said, trying to fight a smile.  
  
"We'll get you to the hotel," chuckled Sam.  
  
"It better not take twenty hours..."  
  
"C'mon, you're talkin' to locals here. Except me," said Crystal.  
  
"Yeah, that's what got us into trouble the last time," Donna said, shaking her head.  
  
"We need to get out of the open," Jack said, glancing around.  
  
"I'll get the keys to the van," said Sam. "We should probably talk about what's going to happen in the next day or so." With that, he turned to talk to his staff, Jack following close behind.  
  
Crystal pulled the clip from her hair as they waited. Donna decided to bite the bullet. "Uh... Rebekah?"  
  
"Hm?" asked Crystal, glancing up at her.  
  
"Douglas is a Republican."  
  
"I'm aware of that."  
  
"You're supporting Sam?"  
  
"I'm a Democrat," Crystal said.  
  
"But..."  
  
"A Democrat can work for a Republican. Doesn't mean we always agree. I'm there as an intelligence expert. It's usually not a popular liberal stance, but somebody's gotta do it." She smiled thinly.  
  
"Leave her alone, Donna," Josh said, glancing at his assistant.  
  
"I don't mind answering questions," Crystal said. "Bobby Kennedy worked for a Republican, y'know. McCarthy. Besides, when Sam gets elected, he might need an intelligence expert."  
  
Sam, from across the field, called to them. "Let's go, troops!"  
  
The five migrated towards the van. Josh, Donna, and Toby entered first, taking seats on the back bench while Sydney and Crystal took the captain's chairs in the middle. Sam took shotgun while Jack climbed behind the wheel. Sydney smiled slightly at that. Her father could get them out of a problem with his driving skills should one arise.  
  
Sam started to speak as Jack pulled the van out of the space. "Tomorrow morning, I've got a strategy breakfast..." Josh and Toby exchanged glances, but said nothing as Sam continued through his spiel about his schedule.  
  
Donna, however, was starting to feel quite uncomfortable. And it was all because of "Rebekah." Crystal was sitting sideways in the seat, her head against the window. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, and the hem of her pants had come up slightly on one leg. It was up far enough to where she could see a holster on her ankle.  
  
She glanced around at the others in the van. Naturally, Jack was focused on driving. Sam seemed to be too enthused that his old friends were with him to notice. Sydney, to whom Donna had never been properly introduced, was watching out the front window. Toby and Josh, sitting on either side of Donna, were engrossed in conversation with Sam. When Toby took the lead to discuss something, however, Donna elbowed her boss slightly.  
  
Josh seemed more annoyed than anything, and eased over slightly to give her more room, which was not at all her intention. Looking at Josh, she tried to motion towards Crystal's leg with her eyes. That only earned an: "All you all right?" from her dense boss.  
  
She leaned over, to whisper in his ear. "Your friend is packing."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Rebekah. She has a gun!" she said in a sharp whisper.  
  
Josh glanced over at Crystal. "Ah..."  
  
"That's all you can say?" she asked, shocked. He was the one who had been shot. "Rebekah" claimed to be a Democrat; what about gun control?  
  
"Hey, uh, Rebekah..."  
  
"Rebekah?" asked Sam.  
  
Crystal looked over at him. "Yeah?"  
  
"You, uh... pants."  
  
Crystal looked down and sighed, muffling a curse, before returning her attention to Josh. "How trustworthy is she?"  
  
"It'll be fine."  
  
"My name's not Rebekah, I'm not from Connecticut, I don't work on the Hill," Crystal said.  
  
"Why do you have a gun?" asked Donna, prompting Toby and Sam both to check Crystal for the weapon.  
  
"A threat's been issued on Sam's life and I'm part of the detail to protect him."  
  
"Oh... And everybody in here knew?"  
  
"You're one of the few outside of law enforcement who know now," said Josh.  
  
"What is your name?" asked Donna.  
  
"Crystal," she said.  
  
"Seaborn," added Sam.  
  
"And the safety is on, if you're worried," Crystal said, lowering the cuff of her slacks to cover the ankle holster.  
  
"Are you two married?" Donna asked, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead.  
  
Crystal and Sam both laughed as Josh answered: "They're cousins. Crystal works for the CIA."  
  
"CIA? What does the CIA have to do with a national matter?" asked Donna.  
  
"That... is classified information," said Crystal.  
  
"Just know that I've been in very good hands since this threat has been initiated," Sam added.  
  
"How dangerous is this threat...?" asked Donna. "Can I know that?"  
  
"Don't worry about it, Donna; we're taking care of it," Crystal assured her.  
  
She nodded slightly.  
  
~~~  
  
Weiss and Vaughn sat at desks near each other, both on the phone and both starting to get bored.  
  
"No one at all? All right, thank you," Weiss said, hanging up and crossing another name off his list. He glanced over at Vaughn, sighing, and listening as Vaughn finished up what sounded like another dead end call.  
  
Vaughn hung up and looked at Weiss, shaking his head. "This is getting us nowhere."  
  
"Where's Will on the banking stuff?" asked Weiss.  
  
"I have no idea."  
  
"Do you know how many apartments we have to go through still?" asked Weiss. He flipped through the list he had. Marshall had offered them a hefty computer print out and the two had split it and started making phone calls to see if anyone matching Jordan's description was looking into an apartment. "And we have people still working on the hotels! This doesn't include rental homes or businesses either. I mean... is this really going to be beneficial?"  
  
"We need to find him. If we can aim direct counter-intel towards him, then we can pull him away from the actual campaign rallies and take him down somewhere else, somewhere away from the public."  
  
"We're going to be making these calls clear till after midnight."  
  
"Then we're going to be waking people up."  
  
"What's going on, guys?" asked a familiar voice. Both men looked up to see Sydney standing there, in her khakis and the polo she'd worn before getting the campaign shirt.  
  
"Hey." Vaughn smiled, and noticed that Crystal was standing behind her. She still had her campaign shirt on, but her black button-up was over it. "Crystal, this is Eric Weiss... Weiss, this is Crystal Seaborn."  
  
Weiss stood, and held his hand out to her. "Nice to meet you," he said.  
  
"Likewise," she said, shaking his hand.  
  
"It looks like we interrupted something," Sydney said, gesturing towards the lists.  
  
Vaughn sighed. "We're trying to figure out where he'd be. We've got apartments. Somebody's got hotels. Somebody's got rental cars. Kendall's calling in more people to help out, calling rental houses and offices."  
  
"What about cabs?" asked Crystal, leaning against a nearby desk.  
  
Vaughn and Weiss exchanged glances, and Weiss shrugged. "I don't think we've looked into that yet."  
  
Crystal picked a phone book off the desk she was leaning against and flipped through the yellow pages, finding the listings for taxi services. She glanced up at Sydney. "Feel like makin' some calls?"  
  
"Sure," she said.  
  
Crystal selected roughly half the pages for the cab listings and pulled them out of the metro phone book before handing Sydney the rest. "I'll put it back when we're through..."  
  
Sydney smiled. "It's not my phone book."  
  
Crystal smirked, and sat down on top of the desk, picking up the phone to dial the first one.  
  
They were still making calls some time later, when Weiss was called away to Sam's. Jack soon replaced Weiss at the phone. It was around midnight when Sydney snapped her fingers, garnering the attention of the others. "And he's willing to talk to us? ...Fantastic. You'll hold him there?" She flashed a smile at her counterparts. "We'll be right there. Thank you very much." Hanging up, she stood, watching as Crystal, Vaughn, and Jack all ended their calls. "We got it!"  
  
"Got what?" asked Vaughn.  
  
"Somebody who picked up three of six guys in a cab at LAX earlier today and took them to a hotel. He's at the dispatch point now and is willing to look at pictures to see if they're the ones."  
  
"You and Vaughn should go," Jack said. "Crystal and I will stay and continue the calls just in case. As soon as you know... contact us."  
  
Sydney nodded, and the couple was soon on their way out.  
  
Crystal stretched her neck before picking up the phone to dial again.  
  
~~~  
  
"You looked like the consummate staffer!" yelled Scott. "You can't shake him. He shouldn't have come!"  
  
"Did you ever think that, if you hadn't sided me with big business, we wouldn't even be having this conversation?"  
  
Weiss listened from the other room, wondering if he needed to step in and break it up. For the moment, he was going to let them argue.  
  
"You can't win unless you side with big business!"  
  
"You don't know because you haven't tried! You haven't even tried! Horton Wilde won. Wilde won without selling out!"  
  
"Selling out?"  
  
"Yes, Scott, selling out. We've screwed everything that man stood for. Kay Wilde wanted a Democrat to run in his place. If I'd known I was going to have a campaign manager who shoved me to the right, I would've told her I wasn't the guy."  
  
"He won because he was dead. It was a joke!"  
  
"A *joke*? That was a man's life. That was a man who stood strong in his belief. That was the man who was told by the DNC that he wasn't going to win, that he shouldn't have been wasting his time or his money. He personified everything that was *right* in our party. And this has turned into everything that's *wrong* with it. We've split into factions. All we do is argue. There's nothing constructive going on here. Nothing! We're splitting our message. The President is good for us with a handful of constituents, but not for others. Big business is great for some, but the rest see it as screwing the little guy."  
  
"What the hell do you know about being the 'little' guy? You with your Ivy League education. You've never been out of the top ten percent of the nation's wealthiest."  
  
"You obviously haven't paid attention to financial disclosure reports. That's pretty sad since you're supposed to be this political phenom. That makes sense, actually. You don't do your homework. You can't tell the difference between the Republicans and the Democrats. You think we're supposed to be with big business."  
  
"Just because I don't have degrees from Princeton or Duke that doesn't make me an idiot, Sam. I know Orange County. I've done my homework. You can't win."  
  
"You don't know."  
  
"I know!"  
  
"Your crystal ball told you?"  
  
"My phenomenal capability to read polling data tells me that you're getting creamed because nobody believes you have a moral character. You slept with a hooker. What the hell makes you think you can be elected *dogcatcher* in this town?"  
  
"The same kind of arrogance that says you're a great campaign manager. This meeting is over. Get out of my house."  
  
"I'm doing everything I can for you. You're not elect-able."  
  
"Who made you judge and jury, Scott? The Republican-led Congress? My opponent, Chuck Webb? Last I heard, the people get to say who is and who is not elect-able."  
  
"Haven't you heard? Orange County hates you."  
  
"Get out."  
  
"They hate you."  
  
"Get *out!*" roared Sam.  
  
Weiss waited until he heard the door slam closed before venturing out of the study to poke his nose in on the living room. "Sam..."  
  
The candidate fell onto his couch with a heavy sigh. "This is all I ever do anymore. Argue. Maybe I should've stayed a lawyer."  
  
"That takes all the fun out of life, don't you think?"  
  
Sam looked up at him and laughed, a half-hearted, tired laugh. "I guess."  
  
"C'mon, you're in the line of fire. International terrorist scumbags on the one hand... lying, cheating, bastard Democrats on the other... A couple Republicans thrown in for good measure. You... You are the King of the Underdog."  
  
"Is this some sort of pep talk?"  
  
Weiss eased down into the armchair near the couch. "Won't it be nice to say, afterwards, that you survived hell and made it out alive?"  
  
"This isn't hell, this is..."  
  
Weiss waited.  
  
"Yeah, hell sounds about right," acknowledged Sam with a nod.  
  
"Somebody's gunnin' for you, literally. Somebody's gunnin' for you politically... But all of this is going to be over in about a week. In a week, you can take a deep breath... take a step back..."  
  
"Go back to D.C. as a Congressman or as a senior advisor..."  
  
"See?"  
  
"Have continued debate with my cousin to the point at which she hates me..."  
  
"What?" asked Weiss.  
  
"Crystal. We had a fight... We always fight. Not constantly, but eventually it all comes back around to it."  
  
"And you think she's gonna start hating you at some point?"  
  
Sam nodded. "She's going to get tired of me telling her 'how to run her life' when all I want is for her to be happy. And safe. You guys do not have a safe job."  
  
He smiled slightly. "I know."  
  
"Why'd you join?"  
  
"Me?"  
  
Sam nodded.  
  
"I wanted to serve. I wanted the adventure. I wanted to be able to say, later, much later, when it was all declassified, hey, grandkids, guess what old grandpa did."  
  
He laughed slightly.  
  
"You think I'm joking," he said with a smile.  
  
"I believe you. Is that still the plan?"  
  
"Still the ultimate goal for when I'm sixty-something, yeah. I just a.) have to last that long and b.) find the girl. I'm up for that challenge, I think."  
  
"Do you know Crys at all?"  
  
"I met her for the first time tonight. I've heard stories, but... other than that, no, that's it."  
  
"Stories?"  
  
"She's... noteworthy."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"She's sort of famous, I guess you could say. I don't know that, when I leave, I want to be like that. I don't want to hear stories around the commissary about me, about how I lived through Borneo or how she got kidnapped for six months and nobody could find her but, while she was captured, she took down the whole organization from within. Don't start getting excited either. Nobody knows what's truth or what's fiction with the stories about her anymore. Some of 'em, I mean, c'mon... She got 'brainwashed' by her first partner to leave the CIA and take on the world with just him? Obviously she's still Company, so that one can't possibly be true."  
  
Sam nodded. "Someday, though, I'm going to get a call, and it's going to be from the Director, and he's going to say: 'Sam, I'm very sorry to have to tell you this...'"  
  
Weiss shook his head. "She's too good."  
  
"Nobody's 'too good' for death. Nobody can escape it."  
  
"She has."  
  
"She can't forever."  
  
Stay tuned...  
  
Lines from the next installment:  
  
"Crystal--"  
  
"That's it! Your part in this is over, so's Sam's. I've got Jordan where I want him. I'm the one that got away... and I'm not going to let him do the same."  
  
"Aren't you taking this a little too personally?"  
  
"This is personal! He's after *me*!" 


	11. Chapter 11 of 12

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.  
  
Previously, on the West Wing/Alias: Crystal and Sydney put the first part of their 'ghost' plan into action at the first rally for Sam with the President. Weiss and Vaughn try to figure out whatever happened to Jordan while, on the road to the hotel for the White House staffers and the campaign headquarters, Donna realizes Crystal is not all she seems. Sydney might've hit pay dirt with a taxi company to discover Jordan's whereabouts while Sam gets into a knockdown, drag-out with his campaign manager, and Weiss is left to try and pick up the pieces.  
  
Crystal never did show up to Josh's Friday night. She wound up working most of the night. Thanks to the All American Taxi Corporation and one of their drivers, they had the location of Jordan and his men. And there was a stakeout team across the hall, in the building across the street, and in cars near all the exits.  
  
Marshall was working on a bug that, when planted near the television sets in all the rooms Jordan had in the hotel, could control the feed remotely.  
  
Crystal spent part of the morning talking with Josh and Toby about campaign rallies and how to stage one before designing the layout of the rally the CIA was going to put on.  
  
Vaughn was in charge of acquisitions and appropriations. He managed to secure a stage, much like the one the Seaborn for Congress campaign used the night before.  
  
Sydney, armed with information about when the hotel maid staff got to work, was dressed in the bland gray uniform and a dark wig. She was going to plant Marshall's devices.  
  
Will was able to get in on the act as well. Using his reporting skills, he wrote up several stories about the Seaborn campaign, using details Crystal gave him about the location of the next big event, complete with remarks by President Bartlet.  
  
It was going to be a huge deal, and they had less than twenty-four hours to pull it off. Crystal learned, through her many phone calls to Josh, that events like the one they were planning, usually had weeks of advance time.  
  
"We have until seven o'clock, what else can you give me?" she asked. Okay, she was pushing him for information. She needed to know! "Bands, crowds, balloons... food?"  
  
"Just how credible are you trying to make this? I mean... why can't you take him down right now?"  
  
"We want Jordan and his men where we want them, where they can't get away. In that hotel... it's too public. They like too much blood. They could take out twenty people while we try to take them down. If we get them out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trained CIA strike teams? His ass is going to be *mine*."  
  
"I didn't know you were that kinda girl."  
  
She ignored his comment. "If he suspects that this is a hoax, he's not coming. He's not going to risk it."  
  
"What about your alter-ego the ghost?"  
  
"We're gonna feed him the footage we took last night through the TV when we're ready to."  
  
"Which will be...?"  
  
"Shortly, but you're ignoring my questions! What else is there? What else do I need to get?"  
  
"Are you going to be able to get enough agents? Enough people to pull this off?"  
  
"We can get other branches of law enforcement if we have to. As I understand it, Conrad's makin' a plea with the FBI since they're officially 'in charge' of this little operation, but, again, that's not helping me."  
  
"People. Stage. Entertainment. Balloons. Yes, food."  
  
"What else?"  
  
"Media."  
  
"We'll bring our own."  
  
"All these people are going to have to have cars. Regular cars. Nice cars. Fancy cars. Beat up clunkers. It's not going to hurt to have a couple black SVUs lined up to look like the motorcade, as well as getting one or two of the campaign cars from Sam with all the stickers and magnets and streamers and whatever else they did to bastardize those poor cars."  
  
"That it?"  
  
"For now. I'll call you back if I can think of anything else."  
  
"Thank you," she said hanging up. "Anybody got word from the DCI yet?" she asked, looking at the assembled CIA agents at desks and tables, at phones and computers. When she received no direct response, she sighed. Still nothing.  
  
~~~  
  
Sydney, hunched over, knocked on the door to Jordan's room. Her mind flashed briefly on the pictures from the hotel in Borneo. She was going up against the man himself, if only to vacuum, make the bed, change the towels, and plant the bug. All of which were tasks she wasn't looking forward to.  
  
A gruff, mottled accent spoke through the door: "Who is it?"  
  
"Maid," she answered in an accent that wasn't her own.  
  
She heard him grumble and open the door, soon face-to-face with the head assassin for a rough-and-ready terrorist organization.  
  
"I'm going to my friend's room. Touch... nothing..."  
  
She nodded, and watched as he walked by her. She pushed the cart inside and immediately planted the device on the cable box before emptying the trash, making the bed, and fixing the towels. She was tempted to poke through the drawers of the bureau, to see what kind of weaponry he had, maybe through the closet, his luggage. She refrained from all of this, having a dread fear of the location being secured with some sort of trap and visualizing rather unpleasant outcomes.  
  
And she had five more rooms to go.  
  
~~~  
  
"You need campaign and rally signs?" Sam asked, looking at Weiss with a rather perplexed expression on his face.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"What for?"  
  
"We're flushing Jordan out tonight and we need those things to make it look real."  
  
"Is this going to come back and bite me in the ass? Because, turns out, the assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff had lunch with a Communist. The President held up kids wanting to go home from Disney and I, apparently, still look like a White House errand boy."  
  
"If this goes bad, somebody's gettin' killed. It'll probably steal the headlines away from those other things. Can we have the signs?"  
  
"Take what you need. But... why do you need the campaign and rally signs?"  
  
"We're staging our own rally. Don't worry; it's outside of town, away from populated areas... the picnic area at Griffin Park."  
  
"What time?"  
  
"Seven."  
  
"I want to be there."  
  
"That's a very bad idea."  
  
"How are you going to pull off the rally without the candidate?"  
  
"Well, since it's not *really* a campaign rally, we figure just fine."  
  
"I want to be there."  
  
"Sam..."  
  
"Is Crys going to be there?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Then, the candidate's making an appearance."  
  
"You really shouldn't..."  
  
"I'm coming."  
  
"What about your own campaign stops tonight?"  
  
"There isn't anything, not at seven."  
  
"Sam..."  
  
"I'll see you at Griffin Park."  
  
Weiss sighed heavily and retrieved the signs. He'd just tell Crystal and he'd let her deal with her cousin. He was temporary roommate and bodyguard. He was no miracle worker.  
  
~~~  
  
Sydney watched as Marshall toted a television set into his office and set it down on a table by her. "What's this?" she asked.  
  
"Your average, ordinary, run-of-the-mill television set. Got your cable, got your remote." He handed her the remote control. "So, you're cruising along the channels. Oh, look, Night Court... And then you're watching and a commercial comes on. Sometimes, y'know, at night, they might have the first two seconds of one commercial, followed by the start of something like, uh, buy this CD 'cause it's got great music on it. Then, by the time they're done telling you the eight-hundred number and you're dialing it, you get the last two seconds of a different commercial: 'don't be fooled by imposters, our deal's the best: buy one get one free' or something like that. So, by then, you've forgotten what the number was and you're never going to get that CD that the TV wanted you to buy. If they'd only done the cut-in seamlessly... which is exactly what we're going to do." Marshall turned on the television set and watched the footage for a moment, before punching in some keys on his computer. "You'd have your CD."  
  
Right as one commercial faded to go to the next, Sydney was suddenly on TV, holding the remote control and looking out. "Marshall..."  
  
"Don't worry, it's only on this TV. The device for this one has a different frequency than the six at the hotel. But, look! It's the Sydney Bristow Show."  
  
"And we can send thirty to sixty-second ads?"  
  
Marshall nodded. "Anything we want. When it comes to news time, we may have to take over, so to speak, and do it all."  
  
"Hopefully we won't have to," she said softly. "I think the ads are almost ready. You can start running them within the half hour?"  
  
"I can run them anytime."  
  
"Great."  
  
"'This is the Sydney Bristow Show, saying goodnight,'" Marshall said, putting on an "announcer" voice, as the TV automatically returned to its regularly scheduled programming.  
  
Sydney smiled, and slipped out of his office.  
  
~~~  
  
By three in the afternoon, Crystal was sitting at a desk with her head down and her eyes closed, at least for a moment. She hadn't slept, not since her nap on Air Force One in Josh's arms and she could use another. She'd been to the FBI headquarters to brief agents. She'd been to the local police's training rooms and briefed cops. She'd orchestrated a campaign rally, a massive one, in roughly twelve hours and she was paying the price for it.  
  
"Whoever is standing behind me is going to get a biiiig surprise if they don't acknowledge the fact that yes, whoever it is, you are there."  
  
"Do you ever sleep when I'm not around?" Josh asked, placing a warm hand on her shoulder.  
  
She couldn't stop a soft, contented sigh at his touch. "You put me to sleep right now, you die. I have to keep going. I have to make it through tonight."  
  
"Powernap?"  
  
"Actually, no... Come out to the site with me, tell me what you think," she said, forcing herself to stand up. She was no longer in her clothes from the day before. She was in a pair of blue jeans and a snug- fitting retro tee shirt. Without the dark circles under her eyes and the exhausted look in them, she could've easily passed for someone younger.  
  
"On one condition."  
  
"What's that?" she asked, sliding her glasses on.  
  
"You let Sam and I come tonight."  
  
"Are you two out of your *minds*?" she asked, looking at him as though he'd grown an extra head.  
  
"We want to come."  
  
"This man is a butcher, you can't possibly *want* to come. He's going to want to kill *Sam*. Heaven forbid something go *wrong* and he decides he's gonna make sure the ghost--that's me, by the way--is good and gone then turns on *him* or *you*. You two are important, visible people. We're the spooks. We're covert. We're cloak and dagger. We like it that way. You two are *not* coming."  
  
"Then, I'm not going with you."  
  
"Josh..."  
  
"That's the deal."  
  
"Forget it," she said and started to walk away.  
  
Josh, however, grabbed her hand. "Don't."  
  
She pulled her hand free of his grasp quickly. "Don't think you can negotiate with me. There is no posturing, no diplomatic talk. Thanks for your help this morning, but that's it." She continued, walking down the hall in her sneakers. She stood out from the rest of the CIA crowd in her casual clothes. Even Sydney and Vaughn were in suits that day.  
  
And Josh was not to be outdone and he was not going to let her have the last word. "Crystal, wait..." He charged after her.  
  
"How did you get in here anyway?"  
  
"You think I don't know how to find my way onto the property of a government organization?"  
  
"I think that if you know the way in, you should know the way out and I'd use it if I were you."  
  
"I think you're going to have to get used to seeing me. Sam and I want to be there."  
  
"It's a matter of national security. You can't come."  
  
"I have a higher security clearance than you!"  
  
"I have more seniority than you. You and Sam are *not* coming."  
  
"What's it going to hurt if--"  
  
"It could hurt *everything*! Everything, Josh. I've been through hell this week, trying to figure out a way to keep him alive and I'll be *damned* if I get to the end of this only to have a stray bullet catch Sam in the chest while we're all focused on blowing away Jordan and his men. A minute goes by... You're yelling over the sound of the gunfire for us to do something and we can't hear you because we're all focused on what we're doing. Five minutes... ten guys are still finishing off clips just to make sure the bastard's down for the count. Somebody's checkin' to see if he's actually dead while representatives from all branches of law enforcement-- and this is, if I do say so myself, an incredible feat of diplomacy, we're gonna have so many agencies working together on this--that you're still yelling at ten minutes and we can't hear you over the commotion. By the time anybody does, it's gonna be too late. We'll put pressure on the wound and I'll freak out but by the time we get paramedics out to Griffin, it'll be too late. Sam'll be gone. And I won't want to be here either."  
  
"Crystal..."  
  
"You're not coming. That's final."  
  
"Crystal--"  
  
"That's it! Your part in this is over, so's Sam's. I've got Jordan where I want him. I'm the one that got away... and I'm not going to let him do the same."  
  
"Aren't you taking this a little too personally?"  
  
"This is personal! He's after *me*!"  
  
"Crystal--"  
  
"I'm going to the rally site. You can come with me or not, but that's it. The end of the line."  
  
"Then, this is the end."  
  
~~~  
  
Josh kept glancing over at Sam during the dinner fundraiser. At some point, they were going to slip off, and he wanted to make sure he didn't miss the exact second when they could leave. Weiss and Jack were still Sam's wingmen, and as soon as they slipped off, they would, too.  
  
Donna noted that her boss was on-edge. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"Does this have anything to do with..." Donna drifted off.  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Then, something is wrong?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Josh..."  
  
"Look, it's Christina Applegate!"  
  
Donna turned, and Josh took that moment to slip into the crowd and migrate towards the door.  
  
See? He could be all international-man-of-mystery, too.  
  
Weiss and Jack were gone, and Sam was inching out of a conversation with donors and supporters. Josh clapped his hand on Sam's shoulder and flashed a smile at those he was talking to. "I hate to interrupt, but I need to borrow the candidate for a moment. If you'll excuse us?"  
  
Sam made his apologies as well as the two exited the ballroom. "You really are good at that," he said as the two broke out into a run to get to the parking lot.  
  
"Yeah, well... Just hope I can still get us in over there."  
  
"Think they're gonna miss me at the party?"  
  
"Nah. Why would they? Just 'cause it was thrown in your honor and people are throwing money at you..."  
  
"Yeah, they're not really, but, thanks."  
  
"Candidates talk and run all the time..."  
  
~~~  
  
The CIA operatives were suiting up. Crystal's dark hair was down and she was dressed in her blue jeans and sported a flack jacket. She checked the clip in her CIA-issued sidearm. "Give me a sound check, please, Sydney?" she asked, slipping an earpiece into her ear.  
  
Sydney, dressed similarly and across the room, spoke softly into her microphone. When Crystal gave her a thumb's up, she stopped.  
  
"Everyone set?" Jack asked, entering the room.  
  
"Who's at the site now?" asked Crystal, crossing towards him.  
  
"Everyone but the five of us," he said, indicating everyone in the room: Crystal, Sydney, Vaughn, Weiss and himself.  
  
"Sound and video check has been done at Griffin?"  
  
"Crystal, it's all set," Jack assured her.  
  
"Our stakeout guys know that they're at the hotel and they're gonna come? Marshall's receivers worked?"  
  
"We have confirmation that everything is a go."  
  
She nodded slightly.  
  
"We've got to get moving ourselves. Let's load up."  
  
Crystal and Jack took off first, followed, at a slightly slower pace, by the other three.  
  
"Is she going to make it?" Vaughn asked Sydney quietly.  
  
Sydney nodded. "She'll be fine."  
  
"She seems kinda tense, though," said Weiss.  
  
"She's about to go up against a man who almost killed her. I don't think it's that uncommon that she'd be worried, but I don't think she's going to freeze or anything when we're out there. I think she wants him more than the rest of us do, but it's going to be fine."  
  
"She won't jump the gun?" Vaughn asked.  
  
Sydney stopped walking, prompting the other two to stop as well. "In all the 'legendary tales' you've heard about her... what do you think?"  
  
When neither could answer, she continued on, leaving them in the corridor for a moment.  
  
"Now you're in trouble with your girl," Weiss said. "Not a smart move."  
  
"And you were helping me out?"  
  
"I'm stayin' *out* of your quarrels."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Can't be worse than what Seaborn did to Josh Lyman this afternoon..."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Ripped him a new one."  
  
"Ouch..."  
  
"CIA women are not to be trifled with."  
  
Vaughn exhaled. "Tell me about it."  
  
~~~  
  
Had Josh and Sam been running a little faster, they would've run right into the disembarking CIA troupe. As it were, they missed each other in the corridors by mere seconds. It was better that way. Josh had hoped to avoid another confrontation as had gone on earlier in that very same building.  
  
"Marshall Flinkman, I presume?" Josh asked, holding out his right hand to the technical genius.  
  
"Yeah, that's me."  
  
"Josh Lyman, White House Deputy Chief of Staff. This is Sam Seaborn."  
  
Marshall smiled. "Very nice to meet you both. Come in, come in," he said, ushering them into his cramped office. "Cleaned up a bit and everything since I heard you two were coming."  
  
"We'll be able to watch everything from here?" asked Sam.  
  
"Yep. The 'rally' isn't set to start till seven... but, uh, we've already got audio and visual." He turned on the television set he'd used to demonstrate his receivers earlier. "Live feed from Griffin Park."  
  
Sam and Josh stood, watching for a moment, taking it all in. "Any way we can pull her from CIA and put her on your advance team?" Josh asked, shaking his head.  
  
"Doubtful," Sam answered.  
  
"Look at that crowd..."  
  
"It's made up entirely of fuzz," Marshall said with a nod.  
  
Josh and Sam exchanged glances before looking up at him.  
  
"Y'know... police," said Marshall, noting their confusion. "Cops... Law enforcement officers..."  
  
"Still. If we could just get Sam's rallies to *look* like that one. They've got the projection screens for people in case they can't see... It looks like a professional political operative set it up. She called me, sure, but... I was expecting fifty people, a truck bed, and six balloons, not... There's a band!"  
  
"LAPD," Marshall said with a nod. "They play really great; there's talk of a record deal..."  
  
Both Sam and Josh realized it was going to be a long, long hour.  
  
Especially when Josh's cell phone began to ring. Pulling it out of his pocket, he looked at the caller ID. "Ooh."  
  
"Who is it?" asked Sam.  
  
"Toby."  
  
"He probably wants to know where we are."  
  
Josh nodded. "Too bad he's not going to," he said, turning his phone off before replacing it in his pocket.  
  
~~~  
  
Crystal was behind the wheel of the decked out SUV. It had a sticker on the bumper, proclaiming "Sam's the Man for Congress." Large magnetic signs hung on the front doors with the more professional looking "Seaborn for Congress" logo.  
  
Sydney sat beside her, the only other passenger in the SUV since they dropped the guys off to check in with team and squad leaders.  
  
"Nervous?"  
  
Crystal shook her head, pulling the SUV onto the grass to drive it near the stage. "Pretty calm actually. I want this over with."  
  
"I, um... I've wanted to ask you something since this whole thing started... and since we have a little time to kill..."  
  
"What's up?" she asked, parking the car behind the stage and in the direction for a hasty escape if necessary.  
  
"When you first joined the CIA... did you ever meet a man named Arvin Sloane?"  
  
Crystal looked at her and shook her head. "I've only seen the man in pictures."  
  
"What about my father?"  
  
She nodded. "Yeah, 'couple times I ran into him," she said, unbuckling her seatbelt.  
  
"What happened... before he left?"  
  
"I don't know. I was seventeen, eighteen and wrapped up with my own identity problems to notice a guy I'd run into a few times and what was up with his life, his career."  
  
Sydney nodded slowly.  
  
"I'm sorry. I know how weird it gets, with family, how you want, and deserve, to know. I wish I could help."  
  
"It's all right."  
  
"Too bad we don't all have time machines," Crystal said with a heavy sigh. "I'd go back and do so many things differently." She opened her door and stepped out. Making sure her earpiece was in, she activated her microphone. "Ground control, I need a twenty on the six-pack."  
  
A few minutes later, she heard the answer in her ear. "ETA to Griffin... Fifteen."  
  
Crystal climbed up on the stage and headed to the microphone at the center of it. "Showtime, people. We've got one shot at this, one shot..." She glanced around at the faces in the crowd before her. "We can do this. Agent Weiss, I believe you're our warm up act..."  
  
Weiss rushed up to the stage, charging up the stairs. He shook hands with Crystal, watching as she jumped off the stage before starting in on what little he'd picked up about Congressional campaigns in the week he'd been protecting Sam.  
  
Stay tuned...  
  
Lines from the next installment:  
  
"Holy shit..." Josh muttered. "What the hell just happened?"  
  
Marshall turned up the volume on the television set, trying to listen to the commotion.  
  
Sam paled, watching the scene in disbelief. 


	12. Chapter 12 of 12

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.  
  
Previously, on The West Wing/Alias: The CIA contingent spends the night putting together a political rally. The next day, they're planting bugs in the hotel rooms of Jordan and his men to lure them to their trap. Sam and Josh both try to vie for admittance to the CIA's campaign rally only to be denied when a sleep-depraved Crystal puts her foot down. Weiss and Vaughn have last minute doubts about Crystal's capabilities, which sits badly with Sydney. Josh and Sam find their own way to attend, watching live feed from Marshall's office. Just before the rally, Sydney pumps Crystal for information on Sloane, only to come up empty.  
  
Sam and Josh were leaning against a desk in Marshall's office, glued to the television set, particularly when Crystal got up in front of the microphone for her brief words. Sam glanced down when Weiss took over, checking his watch. "It's ten after seven..."  
  
"They're starting late?" Josh asked.  
  
"Since when has any political rally started on time?" asked Sam.  
  
"Well, yeah, but this is a special rally... it's not a rally."  
  
"Jordan must be coming in," Marshall said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  
  
"This isn't going to be good..." Sam said, a sudden sinking feeling taking to his stomach.  
  
Josh glanced at him. "Y'know, maybe it's better we're here."  
  
"I didn't even get to tell her goodbye..."  
  
"Sam..."  
  
"That I loved her..."  
  
"Stop it, Sam, she's gonna be fine. Tell him, Marshall..."  
  
"The odds are very much in her favor," Marshall said with a nod.  
  
That wasn't exactly the help Josh was hoping for. "She's a highly trained, highly motivated, do-or-die kinda girl, it seems."  
  
"And if she doesn't get this done..."  
  
"Sam, c'mon, man. Let's not go there."  
  
"I don't know if I can watch..."  
  
~~~  
  
Crystal was crouched down behind the stage, with a finger in each ear, straining to listen to her radio over the din of the crowd. Perhaps Weiss was doing too good of a job... Keeping her eyes peeled, she watched for Jordan and his men to come sneaking up on her, on the group.  
  
Jack's voice could finally be heard in her ear: "Two men on the perimeter, one in the trees, sector one-zero-Charlie. Another, one-zero- bravo. Two more on the ground heading towards the stage; keep your head down. One has remained in the rental van while Jordan is making his way to the crowd. Crystal, he's about to give your cue. Are you sure you want to put yourself up there?"  
  
"We got sharps on the guys in the corners?" she asked  
  
"Repeat that, Crystal; I didn't hear you."  
  
"Do we have sharpshooters on the guys on the perimeter?" she asked again, louder.  
  
"You're breaking up..."  
  
She sighed heavily, watching as two men rushed past the stage on either side, neither one looking back to see her crouched at the back base of the stage. "We. Go. On!" she said directly into her microphone before hearing Weiss begin his introduction of her.  
  
~~~  
  
"It's with great pleasure that I introduce our next speaker. This person has had quite a career and quite a connection to our candidate. This person may know Sam better than he knows himself..."  
  
Sam frowned, watching Weiss on screen. "Who are they introducing?"  
  
Josh sighed. "I think the living ghost."  
  
"They're putting Crystal on stage?" Sam asked, turning to look at Josh.  
  
"That was in the plan that I saw last week--"  
  
"It was *planned* that she's going to go and put herself up as a target! She's got no cover!"  
  
"Maybe they know more about espionage than we do... This came highly endorsed by Director Conrad and the President had his mind made up before he let us kick it around. Toby was the only voice of opposition..."  
  
"I would've been one, too!" Sam yelled.  
  
"It's too late; it's not like we can tell them to stop from here. We're in L.A. for crying out loud; they're in Orange County."  
  
"I doubt highly that there's no way we could get them a message from here," Sam said bitterly.  
  
"It's only to draw his fire," Marshall said.  
  
"What?" Sam asked, turning to look at the engineer.  
  
"It's only to draw his fire. She takes one step on stage, Victor Jordan goes aah! Ghost! It's a distraction. He'll be in constant communication with his men, they'll all be stunned momentarily and we'll be able to take them all down without too much turmoil."  
  
"They can't just jump 'em?" asked Josh.  
  
"Proof for court..." Marshall said.  
  
"Like they're going to take this man to court? They're going to kill him!" said Sam.  
  
~~~  
  
"It's with pleasure that I introduce Sam Seaborn's own cousin, Crystal!" Weiss said, moving off stage quickly.  
  
Crystal climbed up on stage and moved towards the microphone, waving at the crowd. She waited for the gunshots to sound. She waited for the action. She made it to the microphone and the crowd died down without any sort of scuffle.  
  
"Sam is... one of the greatest guys I've had the pleasure to know. Smart, caring... thoughtful. Loyal. All are the qualities you want in your next congressman." She hadn't really prepared a speech. She hadn't thought she'd need it. Jordan, however, wasn't making his move and neither were his men on the perimeter. So much for having the upper hand and controlling the outcome... Crystal found Sydney in the crowd, who looked as confused as she felt. "While we... wait for Sam to join us... I'd like to say a few words about current events. Turns out the CIA's been in the news recently. I'm sure that's not something they enjoy. The Director dropped by in a helicopter for a visit to the White House last week before hosting the President at the headquarters at Langley... An agent died, at the hands of the Red Crescent Order." At her side, her hand tapped her leg twice, and the pictures on the screens changed from her to a photograph of the letter she'd been sent. "Somebody got sloppy. Somebody got sloppy and somebody didn't have control over the situation. Sorta like now." Tapping her leg again, the picture changed to Jordan, in the crowd, looking up at her. "Welcome to the party, Vic."  
  
"You underestimate me, Crystal. I learned not to underestimate you, but honestly, you think I'd be captivated with this? I'd be drawn in and taken down? No one takes me down. Not the likes of you. Not CIA trash."  
  
Crystal's eyes narrowed slightly but caught movement falling from the sky. Tear gas soon blanketed the park, canisters falling from the four corners of the perimeter. Even with Jordan, in the center. Of course, he came prepared. Crystal screamed: "Take his mask!"  
  
Vaughn, a few feet away from Jordan, rushed him, tackling him to the ground and working to force the gasmask away from his face, wanting to expose him to the noxious fumes while doing his best to hold his breath and keep his eyes from becoming too irritated.  
  
Sydney rushed to help while Weiss made a break for the CIA control van, where Jack was holed up and trying to give directions to the agents and officers on the ground in the middle of what soon became a shower of bullets.  
  
Shots tore through the projection screens and in and amongst the crowd, surprising Crystal that Jordan's men would take a chance on ending their boss's life. Covering her mouth with her shirt, she removed her service weapon from its holster and aimed at the guard closest to her and started firing. "Somebody..." She had to stop to cough. "Somebody get the sixth man!" she ordered into her microphone, hoping somebody heard. "Sixth man in the car..."  
  
~~~  
  
"Holy shit..." Josh muttered. "What the hell just happened?"  
  
Marshall turned up the volume on the television set, trying to listen to the commotion.  
  
Sam paled, watching the scene in disbelief.  
  
"I don't know what's going on," Marshall said, muting the sound and sliding across the office to his computer and tapping into the communications system. It was a horrible mix of sounds; only bits and pieces of dialogue could be heard.  
  
"I've been hit!"  
  
"Somebody better get to higher ground!"  
  
"I can't see!"  
  
"Get the sixth man in the car! Somebody get the sixth man!!"  
  
Josh looked at Sam. That last voice was one they recognized.  
  
"Oh, God," mumbled Sam.  
  
"Eagles five and six, why isn't your target down?" asked Jack. "Raven two, do you copy? Raven two?"  
  
The camera taking the footage zoomed in on Crystal, whose back was turned, as she fired twice, staggering slightly with a half step back before firing once more.  
  
~~~  
  
Weiss pulled the large fans that usually kept the ops van cool down towards the crowd, steering the tear gas away and giving everyone their first clear look at the aftermath. There were no more snipers' nests. No more projection screens. Agents and officers were seeing to each other, looking to the wounded.  
  
Sydney and Vaughn stood over Jordan; both had their guns trained on him.  
  
"Sixth man?" Crystal asked. "The wheel man?"  
  
"He's gone," replied an agent.  
  
She sighed heavily.  
  
"We have Jordan. He's the one we wanted," Jack said.  
  
"Yeah," she muttered, turning to face the camera and the crowd for the first time since the ambush. She sat down on the stage, her legs dangling off the front edge. "I'm gonna need medical treatment, Jack. Looks like... at least twelve injuries, six casualties. Mostly gunshot wounds." She placed her gun on the stage beside her, and wrapped her right hand around the fresh hole in her shoulder. "We've got, what, two medic teams on stand by?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah," Jack answered.  
  
"Triage 'em out. I can wait."  
  
~~~  
  
Sam's heart fell and he started to sway slightly when he saw Crystal drop down to sit on the stage. Josh reached out and steadied him. "She's... She's okay..."  
  
Sam looked at Marshall pleadingly. "I want to talk to her."  
  
"I'll get it set up, Mr. Seaborn, give me a minute..."  
  
"She... she's been shot."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"That's... that's blood..."  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"She's... Oh, God, Crystal..."  
  
Marshall handed him the telephone. "We've got you patched through the radio system at Griffin. You may hear other voices; you're not on the call alone."  
  
Sam quickly lifted the receiver to his ear. "Crys?"  
  
"Hey, Sam."  
  
"Cryssy, are you all right?"  
  
"God, haven't heard that name in a while."  
  
"Tell me..."  
  
"I'm fine," she said. "Just a flesh wound..."  
  
"It doesn't look good..."  
  
"They never do, but it's no big deal. Happens all the time."  
  
"I just..."  
  
"How much did you see?"  
  
"All of it."  
  
"You and Josh. Damned fools for wanting to be here. Do you know how much it would've killed me if he'd done this to you?"  
  
"Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to sit here and think that... that this happened to you?"  
  
"Do you have any idea how much I don't want to fight you right now?" she asked quietly.  
  
"Oh, Crys..."  
  
"I mean it, Sam, I..."  
  
"I don't want to fight you either, I just... I love you."  
  
She smiled. "Love you, too."  
  
He smiled back, loving that he could *see* her smile. "I'm glad."  
  
She actually laughed. "It's over now. All over."  
  
"Listen, Josh and I are going to come see you..."  
  
"Oh, yes, bring the Sandman, I want to sleep this off."  
  
"Sandman?" Sam asked curiously.  
  
"I get around him and I just collapse. I can't remember sleeping that good without him."  
  
"But you're not doing anything... right?"  
  
"And the protective older cousin comes back in full force," Crystal commented.  
  
"I just..."  
  
"Yeah. I just sleep," she said. "Out like a light..."  
  
"We'll see you shortly."  
  
"Great," she said quietly.  
  
~~~  
  
Sydney and Vaughn sat in the waiting room quietly. They were both exhausted, too, especially after the commotion of the past few hours. She laid her head over on his shoulder, closing her eyes briefly.  
  
"I wasn't doubting female agents' abilities earlier," he said.  
  
"I know."  
  
"You could kick my butt with one hand tied behind your back. Crystal, probably both..."  
  
Sydney smiled a little. "She strikes me as the person who would take you up on that. Especially since one of her arms will be in a sling for a while."  
  
He gently stroked her hair. "You know there's no one I trust more than you... right?"  
  
She nodded slowly. "I know," she murmured.  
  
"Sometimes I wonder what us guys are doing in this business. You ladies could take over, no problem."  
  
"I happen to like that you're here. And Dad. And Weiss. And Will." She smiled. "Life wouldn't be the same with Marshall working there either."  
  
Vaughn smiled. "Yeah."  
  
"Agent Vaughn? Agent Bristow?" Sam entered the waiting room, looking quite the worse for wear.  
  
Sydney lifted her head from Vaughn's shoulder and stood, to tell him what she knew when a nurse entered: "Relatives of Crystal Seaborn?"  
  
Sam spoke up quickly. "That's me."  
  
The nurse was an older woman, with a friendly smile. "She's just fine. She's in some pain, but she's fine. She's ready for visitors, too."  
  
Sam smiled broadly, a weight lifted from him. "Thank you so much..."  
  
They were led back to Crystal's room, where she was sitting up in bed. "Wow, visitors. This is rare for work-related injuries."  
  
"You have them often?" Sam asked, panic-stricken.  
  
She shook her head. "No. Just occasionally."  
  
"How are you feeling?" asked Sydney, smiling.  
  
"Like the luckiest woman alive. How often do you cheat certain death?"  
  
"Hopefully just twice and you're never in that situation again," Sam said quietly.  
  
She gently reached out with her right hand, taking one of Sam's. "I'm fine, Sam. See? All parts in relative working condition. Ten fingers, ten toes..."  
  
"You have a hole in your shoulder..."  
  
"All sewn shut." She smiled.  
  
"How can you smile about this?" he whispered.  
  
"I can smile knowing you're safe. And that Jordan is behind bars?" she asked, turning to Vaughn and Sydney.  
  
"And will be for a long time," Vaughn assured her.  
  
"See, coming to California was always good for me," Crystal said, looking at Sam with a smile.  
  
"Just because you got free-range during the summers to do whatever you wanted when we were kids..."  
  
"I was the innocent one, the one who could do no wrong." Crystal flashed a smirk, which caused Sam to actually smile.  
  
"Yeah, uh-huh. I remember hunting you down on an occasion or two. You'd wandered off entirely too far."  
  
She chuckled slightly. "Enough about memory lane."  
  
"We should probably go, let you get your rest," Vaughn said. "Us, too, for that matter," he said, glancing at Sydney.  
  
"It was an honor to work with you both," Crystal said solemnly.  
  
"You, too," Vaughn said with a nod.  
  
"We'll see you before you head back."  
  
"Get some rest, you two," said Crystal, shooing them out of her room.  
  
Sam reached down, brushing Crystal's hair out of her eyes. "I'm glad you're okay."  
  
"Was there ever any doubt?"  
  
"Tons. And tons of it."  
  
She scoffed. "Shoulda known better."  
  
"You never did take no for an answer."  
  
"Don't plan on it now."  
  
He smiled. "Good."  
  
"You failed to bring the Sandman with you."  
  
"I thought he was Clark Kent?"  
  
"Either one."  
  
"He's... on his way."  
  
"On his way?" Off his nod, she asked, "Should I be worried?"  
  
"Nah."  
  
"Okay." Both Seaborns seemed surprised when the phone in her room rang. Reaching over, Crystal grabbed it. "Yes?" She glanced at Sam. "Hold on..." She covered the mouthpiece. "Somebody named Scott and he sounds pissed."  
  
"Campaign manager," Sam grumbled.  
  
"Want me to tell him you're in traction?" Crystal grinned.  
  
Sam shook his head and took the phone. After a strained conversation about his disappearance at the fundraiser, Sam promised he'd be over to discuss the "damage" caused by his actions. Hanging up, he looked at her. "I have to go."  
  
"So go."  
  
"When are you going back to D.C.?"  
  
Crystal shrugged. "I flew in on Air Force One, so... If I don't go back with them, transportation'll probably be out of my own pocket."  
  
Sam nodded. "I'm going to come see you tomorrow. I have some time cleared since it is Sunday..."  
  
"You don't have to, y'know."  
  
"You're my cousin..."  
  
"And you're busy. And I'm busy. And you know I love you and I know you love me, even if we go months without talking to each other or saying it."  
  
He nodded slightly. "I worry about you."  
  
She smiled. "I know."  
  
He kissed her forehead. "We're even now," he whispered. "I saved you years ago... now you've saved me."  
  
"But I'm still keeping my job," she said just as softly.  
  
He nodded.  
  
She smiled. "See you later, Congressman."  
  
"Don't tempt fate."  
  
"Do it all the time."  
  
He shook his head slightly, offering her one more smile, before slipping out, leaving her all alone in the empty hospital room.  
  
The smile she'd sent Sam away on had faded. Her happy, smiling eyes were watering. It had hurt... She didn't show pain or fear in front of others, not if she could help it. The part of her job that left her all by her lonesome in hospitals was particularly hard to take. She'd been alone in Borneo... Covering her face with her hand, she let the anxiety and frustration and fear and exhaustion pour out from her in silent sobs and flowing tears.  
  
She was so tired and so sore and so drained from the week's events she didn't hear the door open. She didn't hear someone quietly cross to the bed. She did, however, feel the weight when he sat down beside her. "J... Josh..."  
  
"Yeah," he said softly, gently prying her hand down from her eyes. "What's wrong?"  
  
"I just... This whole week. This whole week's been so hard..."  
  
Maneuvering her carefully, he gently pulled her into his arms, letting her cry on his shoulder while he stroked her back. "It's over. You're through with that..."  
  
"I'm so tired..."  
  
"You can sleep now. It's done."  
  
~~~  
  
"I tried to call you and warn that it had happened," Toby said indignantly.  
  
"Let's just get this election over with, hm?" asked Sam. "You and Charlie get arrested. Kundu. Economic package. Kids screaming on the freeway... my cousin gets shot, but that's not common knowledge... I can't get through a civil conversation with my campaign manager anymore."  
  
"Well, see, the last one I can fix. Actually, the President did."  
  
"I appreciate that. But, that doesn't change what's happened. That doesn't buy us back more time to do this thing right."  
  
"We'll make the best of what's left."  
  
"Just... the campaign's not what's important to me anymore. It... I guess, in ways, it never was. Seeing Crystal, though. Seeing what she goes through... She's my family. She's the one relative I get along with relatively well... She's the one that, if something in my life goes right, I want to share it with."  
  
"Everybody needs that."  
  
"Not everybody needs to be in Congress," Sam said.  
  
"Good thinking... because you're probably going to lose."  
  
"So long as it's done fast and painless, I don't care."  
  
"We'll do our best."  
  
~~~  
  
Crystal sat in her office, her arm still in a sling. "You're off to where?"  
  
"Zurich," Sydney said.  
  
"Chasing down Sloane?"  
  
"Hopefully."  
  
"I'll keep good thoughts for you."  
  
"How's the arm?"  
  
"Don't think I'll be pitching any Company softball games anytime soon."  
  
"That's too bad."  
  
Crystal smiled. "My heart just aches over that fact."  
  
"Listen... I know you said you don't remember him, but if, by chance, something does happen to cross your mind, no matter how insignificant it is..."  
  
"I'll let you know," Crystal said seriously.  
  
"Thanks," Sydney said before turning to something a little lighter. "How's uh... Sandman?"  
  
"Oh, he still is quite adept at putting me to sleep. How's your boy scout?"  
  
"How did you...?"  
  
"Please, Syd, I'm a keen observer of the human condition. It's obvious."  
  
"It is?"  
  
"No, but you pretty much confirmed it there."  
  
Sydney smiled; Crystal could hear it over the phone. "He's fine."  
  
"Good. Glad to hear it." Crystal changed the subject back, one more time. "If you want help with Sloane... If you need somebody else..."  
  
"You'll be the first one I call. When you recover full range of motion in your shoulder."  
  
"Physical therapy starts soon."  
  
"I expect to hear reports on your progress," said Sydney, fighting giggles.  
  
"Today, hurts like hell, can lift two inches."  
  
"I want to hear an improvement by the time I get back."  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Crystal said smiling.  
  
"Take care, Crys."  
  
"Godspeed, Syd."  
  
End. 


End file.
